


The Devil's Right Hand

by PrincePe4ch



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincePe4ch/pseuds/PrincePe4ch
Summary: A world where Crowley did not stay on earth.  But stayed in Hell as Beelzebub's right hand. He still goes to Earth for the same major points in history, but returns to Hell immediately after each time.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

The Lord of Hell is not having a good day. That much is clear from every bit of their body language, as they prepare to level a harsh sneer at the other Princes of Hell that will soon be approaching their throne. Dagon stands far to their left, looking anxiously at them. She had already gotten snapped at today; she likely wouldn’t bother trying to speak again. They feel a slight satisfaction at this. Their right is currently empty.... because Crowley is, no doubt, escorting the princes there now.

Escorting four Princes of Hell is not an enviable job. Especially when one was a demon with no real title of their own. A demon such as Crowley, once an archangel, fallen to the 'guard dog' of the Lord of Hell. There were whispers behind hands, and sometimes insults thrown to his face. They didn't matter. No matter what the demons of Hell thought, they stood when he walked in. Fear of Beelzebub may have been the only reason for it, but they still did it.

Sauntering through the hallways, princes behind him, Crowley ignored anyone that he passed. Red hair left long, he wore a stylish black suit--but no glasses. No real reason when in Hell. Which was generally always. His few trips to Earth had bordered on pleasant. A somewhat frightening concept for a demon.

Pushing open the door to the throne room in a dramatic gesture, reptilian gold eyes locked onto the Lord of Hell immediately. A bit of a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he bowed. It was clearly a dramatically sarcastic gesture. One the princes were accustomed to. 

"I present My Lord with the Princes of Hell, Mammon, Asmodeus, Leviathan, and Belphegor." He gestured to the demons, then sauntered unhurriedly to his place at Bleezebub's right hand. He stood close enough to lean on the throne if he wished--which he on occasion did.

Beelzebub very pointedly doesn’t look at Crowley as he makes his way to his place by their side, but the exaggerated bow was enough for an amused gleam to come to their eyes, even if only Crowley would be able to notice it. Their gaze is cold, though, as they stare at the other princes, waiting for them to kneel, as had come to be expected of them. They wouldn’t hear whatever the others had to say otherwise.

Leviathan rolls his eyes but sinks to the ground on one knee. He is the first to do so.  
Mammon grits her teeth and glares, but she sinks down to her knee as well, looking right up at the Lord of Flies.

Asmodeus comes next, making the kneel a gesture that is somehow both dramatic, and insulting. It was one of the prince’s talents. 

With an annoyed huff, Belphegor unceremoniously slumps to one knee, looking bored. 

Watching the four, Crowley does not look at Beelzebub to see their reaction. He can imagine it well enough. Instead, he is looking over each prince, analyzing them. Attempting to uncover the reason for this meeting. It was not often they requested an audience with The Lord of Hell.

“Siblings.” The word, although familiar, sounds more like a cruel insult coming from Beelzebubs mouth. “It isn’t very often you request an audience with me.” Especially all of them at once. They tilt their head and tap their fingers on their leg, expertly hiding their paranoia and making challenging eye contact with every one of the other princes. “What do you want?”

“Oh, dear Bubby,” Asmodeus purrs, smiling up at the Lord of Hell from his knee, “What ever makes you believe it is us that wants something?” The demon held out his hands gesturing to himself and the other princes with an innocent pretense.

The demons in the room all tense at the use of the nickname and look at Beelzebub for their verdict. Their attitude and tolerance of Asmodeus’ bullshit varies from meeting to meeting. Today, Beelzebub just rolls their eyes. The demons in the room relax. “When do you not want something, Asmodeus?”

"Listen, that's fair, but," says Leviathan, deciding that somebody has to be the voice of reason and nobody else seems to be stepping up to the plate so it might as well be him. "This isn't a request that... we have. It's... a message. A demand. From Satan." He chews his bottom lip nervously, looking somewhere off to Beelzebub's left.

"Qui'e, the request," Belphegor adds, smirking slightly, though his eyes are pointedly on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Frowning deeply, Crowley turns his head, looking behind the throne on the side opposite him, searching for whatever it was Leviathan seemed to be staring at. A  
Beelzebub raises an eyebrow, again hiding their paranoia, although their unease only grows with every passing moment. They can’t brush off a demand from Satan. They want to look at Crowley to get his opinion but wisely decide against it. “A message from the boss?” They straighten up in their chair. “And what would that be?”

Though knowing that it might be in vain, Leviathan looks around at the other princes to see if any of them would maybe be willing to do the talking instead.  
Unsurprisingly, he finds Mammon staring right at him, expectantly. He grimaces and looks around at the other two.

Belphegor does not look up from the ground, and Asmodeus simply gives his brother a sickeningly sweet smile.

Leviathan grits his teeth before turning back to Beelzebub.  
"Lord Satan has bestowed... a task, upon us. One of us. A great duty..." His eyes travel over to Crowley and he becomes uncomfortable. He swallows nervously before looking back at the Lord of Flies. "Is... would it be possible for us to speak of this matter alone?"

Seeing nothing behind the throne but some odd bug, Crowley turned his attention back to the proceedings. Just in time to see Leviathan giving him a rather odd look. Raising a brow he hissed softly at the prince's next words. There was no way he was going to leave Sam here with them. However, he was also well aware it was not his place to say this. Instead, he turns his head to look at the Lord of Hell expectantly.

Beelzebub bites their lip, hard, and doesn’t spare a glance to Crowley. They can feel something watching them. And whatever it was they were going to discuss... it certainly wouldn’t be pleasant. “All of you, get out.” They wave a hand to their surrounding court, not including Crowley of course, assuming that was all Leviathan meant.

The various demons of the court shuffle out, muttering to themselves as they do so. Once they are gone, Asmodeus raises an eyebrow, staring directly at Crowley as he addresses Beelzebub. "My lord, we would prefer this....just between siblings."

Thank Satan somebody said it, thinks Leviathan, grateful that he didn't have to be the one to request Lord Beelzebub's... assistant? Friend? Consort? To leave the room as well.

Brows furrowing, Crowley shoots a glare at Asmodeus, before looking to the Lord of Hell once more.

Beelzebub blinks a few times, and if one knew them well enough, momentary fear at the thought of being alone shone in their eyes. It’s buried under a nasty look as they ponder. They look down at Crowley. “Go. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

Visibly stiffening, Crowley's eyes flash with the briefest glimpse of anger--and perhaps betrayal. The moment of fear had not been lost on him. They did not want to be alone, and they were still sending him away. Simply because the princes were uncomfortable with his presence. Stomach boiling hot he gave a stiff bow. "Yes, My Lord." Without looking at them again, the demon saunters from the room, eyes up, refusing to acknowledge the princes.

Beelzebub watches Crowley go, and for a moment it seems like they’re going to call him back and tell the other princes to fuck off. But the Lord of Hell merely tears their gaze away to glare at their siblings. “What is it that is so important that he can’t be here for it?” They snap irritably.

Leviathan nearly breathes a sigh of relief that Beelzebub didn't get angry at their request for Crowley to leave the room.

"It's about the apocalypse, my Lord," he says. "Lord Satan has assigned us with a task, but only one of us may carry it out. He has told us to bring the issue to you so we can decide as a group who has-- er, who gets to do it."

“That’s what this is about?” Now they definitely look a little pissed. “What task requires an in depth argument to complete?”

"It's a bit more....involved than you would think," Asmodeus chimes in, uncharacteristically avoiding looking at Beelzebub.

"One of us has to..." Leviathan looks around at his fellow princes, really not wanting to be the one to say this. "Has to..." Mammon makes a hand gesture for him to get on with it already. Leviathan takes a deep breath. "Oneofushastocarrytheantichrist."

Suddenly, all four princes on their knees, were looking very pointedly at anything but each other.

Mammon is looking at the ceiling, while Leviathan straight up has his eyes closed.

Belphegor has not taken his eyes from he floor this entire conversation, and Asmodeus suddenly has something very interesting under his nails.

There is a long moment of silence. Beelzebub is both glad that Crowley wasn’t in the room for this conversation, and also incredibly horrified that they hadn’t kept him in here for this because holy fuck. “Is this some sort of sick joke?” They snarl coldly, although their hands are shaking a little.

Mammon lets out a laugh. "I wish," she says.  
"S-Satan told us th-that," Leviathan says, and it isn't like him to stutter. "He has to... to..."  
"Impregnate one of us," finishes Mammon, which Leviathan is extremely grateful for, because the idea is making him feel a little sick.

"Do things the proper way," Asmodeus adds, still looking intently at his fingernails.  
Belphegor appears to have...fallen asleep.

Beelzebub feels rather sick themselves. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. “One of us? Why us?”

"The princes are the only ones he would ever trust with this 'most important of tasks.'" Mammon says, putting the last bit in air quotes.  
Leviathan doesn't feel like talking anymore.

Beelzebub grabs the arms of their throne so tight they feel their hands might bust. “Well.” They breathe, their panic thankfully not coming into their voice. “Which one of us, then?”

Cricket sounds seem to fill the room

Leviathan squeezes his eyes shut, and he is visibly shaking a little.  
Mammon is, for once, speechless, her own fear of being chosen keeping her from saying anything.

Belphegor is snoring just a touch.  
Uncharacteristically, Asmodeus is silent, face blank.

“Belphagor.” They hiss at the sleeping prince, trying to wake him up. For once, his input might actually be needed.

Jerking slightly, Belphegor looked around, confused for a moment before looking at Beelzebub, then immediately looking away. "Yea m'lord?"

“If you’re going to sleep through the discussion, then you can be the one to do it.” Their expression is fierce and unyielding.

"M-m-m'lord," Bel's eyes grew to the size of saucers, all color draining from their face as they looked back up, "I, I cou-I-please..."

Wincing, Asmodeus turned his head away, wishing he could close his ears.

Mammon hangs her head, her heart pounding.  
Levi opens his eyes at this and looks fearfully up at Beelzebub. Belphagor is his youngest sibling, he can't... he can't let them go through... "Wait! Don't make them do it, I'll..." Levi's breaths come out in short, quick bursts, his ears ringing from the pressure of what he might be about to volunteer to do.(edited)

“Stop.” They wave a hand. They look like they’ve aged a thousand years in this conversation. “Levi. Belphy. Stop. Of course I’m not going to make you do it just because you fell asleep.”

Nodding quickly, Belphegor looks at the ground quickly, blinking rapidly. They make a quiet sound, reminiscent of sniffling.

At Bleezebub's assurance, even Asmodeus visibly relaxed a touch.

Neither Leviathan nor Mammon are relaxing at all. Just because Beelzebub isn't going to make Belphagor do it for falling asleep, doesn't mean they're all out of the water yet.  
Leviathan feels sick at the notion of doing it himself, but he feels even more sick at the notion of one of his younger siblings doing it.  
"My... My Lord," he says. "Forgive me, but... Don't... they shouldn't have to do this." He gestures at the other princes, before taking a deep breath. "I-It would be my h-honor to fulfill this d-duty to our Lord S-Satan." He is shaking more now.

“Levi.” Their voice is the most gentle it’s been for ages. “We all know which one of us is going to do it. And it’s not going to be you.” They sit up perfectly straight and fold their shaking hands in their lap. “I am the eldest. This is my responsibility to Hell.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Please no.

Asmodeus physically slumped, hands shaking slightly, eyes squeezing shut.

Belphegor puts their face into their hands.

Mammon's head snaps up to look at Beelzebub as they say this.  
A single tear falls from Leviathan's eyes as they stare at their older sibling.

Beelzebub can’t stop shaking. This is the weakest the princes have ever seen their eldest sibling. For a split moment in time, they don’t look like a Lord of Hell... they look like a scared and broken individual. “You’re all free to return to your duties.” The words are a broken whisper and they wrap their arms around their middle as if to give themselves the hug they know they can’t receive from the other princes.

Asmodeus stands immediately. He gives Beelzebub a fleeting look mixed with pity and gratitude before leaving the room in the most dignified rush he could manage.

On the ground, Belphegor did not seem to be aware of the dismissal, still kneeling with their head in the hands, shaking.

Mammon jumps up and nods her head once before scrambling after Asmodeus.  
Leviathan stands up, but does not move from his spot, looking like he wants to step closer to Beelzebub.  
"Bee..."

“It’s okay. It’s better me than any of you.” Beelzebub doesn’t make eye contact with their little brother. “This is how it has to be. I’ll be fine. Go back to Australia, Levi.”

Leviathan goes slowly over to Beelzebub, and lays a hand on their shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it before opening it once more. "H-He told us... he wants you to go to his quarters," he says, before squeezing Beelzebub's shoulder once and going over to help Belphagor to their feet.

Beelzebub doesn’t snap at the contact, and merely bows their head.

Silently, Belphegor stands with their brother's prompting. Hands falling from their face, they shuffle out.

The second the last of the princes leave, Crowley struts in, door closing behind him with a sharp click. Stopping several feet before the throne he crosses his arm, staring at The Lord of Hell in silence. Something had happened. Something serious. Never had he seen the princes like that.

Beelzebub inhales a long and shaky breath, slowly standing up from their throne. Their expression is still guarded and cold as they stare at nothing, as if they’ve barely noticed Crowley’s presence.

Frowning deeply, Crowley's arms relax to his side as he takes a half a step forward. "Sam?"

“Raph.” Their voice shakes.

In a heartbeat, Crowley has crossed the room, hands going gently to Beelzebub's shoulders. "Sam, what's going on? What's wrong?" He looks down at their face, concern painting his.

They gently grab his hands and pull them off their shoulders, making it clear that this isn’t an action of rejection, but one of necessity. “I...I need to go speak with the Dark Lord. Immediately.” An expression of pure disgust comes over their face and they almost break, only barely managing to reign themselves back in.(edited)

Allowing his hands to be removed, Crowley feels his stomach drop. "Why?" he asks softly, suddenly very afraid. Something was terribly terribly wrong.

Beelzebub shakes their head, their flies buzzing sluggishly around their head in a sort of terrified stupor. “We have to... discuss something. The Antichrist.” A low rumble shakes Hell and they pale. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Frown deepening, Crowley has a thousand more questions--but he knows better. He has already delayed them. Stepping to the side, he bows his head, keeping silent. "When it's finished..." he does not need to finish the thought.

They feel sick, and it shows on their face. “Of course.” Forcing their mask firmly into place, they walk calmly out of the room, feeling as though they are walking to their death sentence, when in reality it was so much worse than that.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

When Beelzebub had left to meet The Greater Beast, Crowley had wandered Hell for some time. As per usual, he attracted stares, glares, insults, and the odd glob of spit. He was not a popular demon in the underworld, but he didn't care. None of them mattered, this place didn't matter. Still, their very presence began to make him feel claustrophobic.

Giving in, he went to his own quarters. They were nothing special, a fairly small room with a desk and a bed. They were directly next door to those of Beelzebub, sharing a common wall. When necessary, there was also a door in that wall--but it was a thing of convenience that existed or did not depending on his mood. There was none today as he paced agitated circles in the dingy room.

Exiting Satans chamber, the Lord of Hell makes their way down the hallway to their room, and any demon with sense gets the fuck out of their way, because whatever sort of mood they were in before is nothing compared to this. Their demonic energy is off the charts, and their aura is so strong that some of the shitty paint peels off the wall and flakes to the floor. Several demons shriek on pure reflex as they move by.

Over the centuries, Crowley had attuned himself to the feel of Hell. Able to pick up on the slightest disturbances. It was useful in his job--both as right hand to The Lord of Hell, and his self appointed job of protecting his oldest friend. His only friend. 

Since they had been summoned, nothing had felt right. It was perhaps one of the reasons he had felt so incredibly restless. However, he noticed something change. A settling, but a flare, moving through Hell. It was Beelzebub. Flinging open the door, he moved towards the feel with purpose.

Beelzebub continues moving and very pointedly not thinking about anything. They can’t afford to break down here. They resist the urge to fidget with their new medal they’d received for their contribution to the great plan. Their attunement to Hell’s energy has been completely thrown off balance, but they know their own aura is wrong. And soon, everyone would know why. The thought made them sick.(edited)

Finally, Crowley rounded the corner and saw them. The feel of their aura washed over him, nausea causing him to stumble, leaning against a wall. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to stand. Knowing better than to speak he moves to their side. He does not touch them, simply moves into step. Walking beside, and a half step behind them--his usual place. The urge to reach out and take their hand is strong, but he resists.

Beelzebub doesn’t miss a beat when Crowley falls in step, the familiarity of it is almost comforting. They make it to their room and motion for Crowley to go first, as they always do.

Opening the door, he steps in, doing a brief circuit, checking for intruders before returning to the door, holding it open. It is a formality. He would know if someone was there the instant the door opened--but it was a familiar habit, comforting.

They rush in their room and wait for the door to be closed, trying not to break down.

Closing the door with a click, Crowley turns to his friend, all pretense at formality dropping away as he moves to them quickly. "What happened?"

Beelzebub doesn’t answer right away. Instead, they rip their new medal off of their chest and throw it across the room. It doesn’t break when it hits the wall, of course- doesn’t even scuff. Instead, it hangs itself up neatly on the wall on a pin that definitely wasn’t there before.  
July 28, 2019

Sparing a brief glance for the pin, Crowley hisses at it. He has no idea what it is for, but he can guess where it came from. Turning back to them, he reaches out tentatively, placing a hand on their arm. "Sam?"

“My aura.” Theyre shaking, and they barely even notice the hand on their arm. “My aura, what does it feel like to you?”

Frowning, Crowley reaches out. Not with his hands, but with his senses. Nausea rolls over him again, rocking him on his feet. Gritting his teeth he keeps going. And stops. 

Color drains from his face, eyes growing impossibly wide. "No...."

“Yes.” Their voice is even shakier than they are, and they attempt to adjust their coat to satiate their anxious hands, but when they pull their hands away the medal is pinned right back where it was and they stare at it blankly.

Hissing, Crowley grabs the pin with the intent to rip it off. Instead, he ends up on his knees, screaming, holding his hand. The palm is scorched and smoking.

“Raph!” Their terror increases tenfold and they kneel beside him, using their newly strengthened magic to attempt to heal the wound. The magic used to harm their friends hand is now terrifyingly similar to theirs.(edited)

Unable to help himself, Crowley flinches as the too-familiar magic touches him. He does not, however pull away. Slowly the burn fades--but a scar remains. A reminder. Still shaking, he lowers his hand, looking to his friend. "Sam....why?"

Beelzebub rocks back, sitting rather than kneeling, shaking their head rapidly as the reality of what they’d done set in. “I..” I had hoped it would be you.

Reaching out, Crowley put a hand on their shoulder, then slid all the way to the floor and pulled them into his arms, hugging them tightly. "Sam, oh Sam."

Their shoulder shake as they bury their face in their friends shoulder, whimpering a little. “I had to.” They manage. “The other princes, they- I had to.”

"Shhh," Crowley gently pets their hair, holding them tightly, "Shhh, I understand." He did not. "I've got you now. Shhhh."

“You have to believe me.” Their voice is desperate. “I couldn’t- he knew it would be me. ’I had hoped..’” They cut themselves off with a sob. “’I had hoped it would be you.’ Thats what he said. He knew.”

Hissing at the air, Crowley rocked them back and forth. Gently continuing the stroking of their hair he hummed softly. A soft and comforting song. Something from long ago. Because he had no words--there was nothing he could say in the face of this.

Beelzebub goes completely quiet, aside from the buzzing of their flies, which land around them and try to lend comfort. They cling to their friend.

Rocking to the rhythm of the song now, Crowley begins to sing. The words are in a language long gone to them both--but that doesn't matter. The actual words are irrelevant. It was the song they danced to once. They would sing together when happy, when sad. It was a line between them. One that spoke of friendship and better days. A bond from before time itself, before the fall--before everything.

Beelzebub relaxes at the familiar melody, and a few moments pass before they join in the song, voice a bit scratchy with tears but still ringing through.

Relaxing, just a hint, Crowley adjusts his tone, just the slightest bit, leaving room for them in the song as they flow through the last verse and chorus. Slowly fading away into silence.

They pull away from the hug, wiping their eyes, trying to stifle their emotions. They take Crowley’s hands in theirs, paying close attention to the burned one. “Are you okay?” They whisper.

"I'm fine," Crowley assured them immediately, "Just another scar, no worries." He managed a weak smile, wiggling the fingers on his freshly scarred hand in demonstration of its fitness.

They still look sick to their stomach. “I didn’t know that would happen.” Letting go of Crowley’s hand, they grab the medal on their chest, testing it out. Of course, it does nothing to them other than give off an uncomfortable warmth. They take off the medal, but don’t throw it this time, instead setting it away from the two of them. It’s a pointless gesture, but it feels like they have some control. “I didn’t- I didn’t expect any of this. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I can feel him.” They don’t need to say who as they put a hand over their stomach.

Crowley understood they had not known—he did not blame them. There was so much they had not known would happen. Starting the day they fell. He did not blame them, could not—it would drive him mad. Instead, he just nodded his understanding. 

Filled with a morbid sort of curiosity—on overwhelming need to know, he reached out a hand tentatively, placing it over their hand. Crowley was unprepared for the wave of power that hit him. 

For a split second, he was blind, entire body rocking with it—like a physical wave had actually struck the demon. Then it was over. He could still feel the power, but it was not blasting at him. 

Shaking his head, he pulled his hand away. There had been something...else in the wave. Crowley could not put his finger on what it was, it had all happened to fast—and he was not sure he wanted to try again. 

“Well, there’s no going back now,” He looked into his friend’s face, a somewhat bitter smile on his lips, “Just one more bridge to burn.” They’d done a lot of that over the centuries, the two demons. It was that mutual struggle that had kept them together.

Beelzebub couldn’t survive without Crowley. That much was a given. He was their lifeline, the thing keeping their head above the water. They look into his eyes, trying to communicate an apology. They’re too terrified to speak one aloud for this crime, because all that’s keeping them from breaking is not accepting what’s happened. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. “I know. It’ll be fine.” They look down on themselves, squirming in place. “No one will question me now, will they? Not while...” They can’t bring themselves to say it out loud.

Seeing the apology in their eyes, Crowley reached out, gently putting hands on their face and kissing their forehead. I forgive you. There is nothing to forgive. I'm here. He would always be there. Just like they would always be there for him. The demon remembered, oh so long ago, in Heaven, speaking to another angel. 

"Sam means everything to me." A real smile forms. "I'd stand by them through anything."

It was true then, and it was true now. Heaven had not really mattered--Hell did not matter. His friend mattered. 

Looking down at their stomach again Crowley scoffed. "If they do, I'll have something to say about it," He responded simply. Eyes flicking back up to their face, he smirked. "I dare them."

Beelzebub manages a smile. “Thank you, Raphie.” The words encompass thousands of years of this. They know being in Hell isnt easy for Crowley. They know that Crowley doesn’t get the treatment he deserves for other demons. Often they wonder whether they made the right decision in keeping him with them. But...

”You know I got your back, no matter what. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

God, they really don’t know how they’d ever recover from this without him.

Patting their head in a terribly condescending way, he grins to take away the sting. Standing quickly, Crowley offers them his hand. "Always."

“Don’t pat me, I’m not a dog.” They scoff, but take his hand anyway, getting to their feet.

"Clearly not," Crowley responded, still grinning as he walked over and slid onto the bed in a seated lounge, "That would be me." It was a dark joke, one that he knew Sam would not find as humorous as he did. That he was considered The Lord's guard dog--or sometimes lapdog--was not a secret to anyone. Even if none ever said those things to Beelzebub's face, it was known. Crowley found it an easier thing to joke about, than be offended.

Sure enough, Beelzebub frowns. They, too, know somewhat of the rumors that fly around behind their back. There isn’t much they can do about it; addressing it would only make matters worse in the end and paint a bigger target on Crowley’s back. They try their best to appear apathetic about it as they set themselves down on the bed next to their friend. “You’re not one either.” They grumble, before looking down at themselves and noticing the medal was right back where it had been. They rip it off again, holding it tightly in their hand this time.

Shrugging, Crowley leans back on his hands, head lolling back so he is staring at the ceiling. "It's accurate enough, I suppose," He muses, "Worse things to be than a dog." He wobbles his head from side to side in thought.

"Dogs are cute, fluffy, loyal, loving, they have big teeth, and they run really fast." He looked at Sam from the corner of his eye. "Really, if you think about it, they're paying me a complement."

Beelzebub smirks and shakes their head. “Id say that’s pretty accurate, Raph. At least you’re not a fat ugly toad, right?”

Laughing a pure, full throated sound, he shook his head. "Fucking Hastur," he shook his head, pulling his arms up, allowing himself to fall back on the bed. Now lying the wrong way on the bed, his legs dangling over the edge at the knees he sighed. "That idiot has requested an audience with me again," Hissing quietly, the demon closed his eyes, "He thinks he's very clever, and that I don't know he hates me."

“He’s always been a fucking idiot.” Their voice is full of venom for a moment. “If you don’t want to talk to him, I can sentence him to desk work for a decade or so. He won’t have time to have any sort of audience with a millennia-worth of paperwork to go through.”

"Nah," Crowley shakes his head, "I'd rather him be where I can keep an eye on him. He may be an idiot, but he's still dangerous. Still a Duke." Smiling, he opened one eye looking up at them. "Though, I am tempted to fill the meeting room with lillypads."

“You should.” There is a wicked gleam in their eyes, before their expression gets a little more serious. “What does he want an audience for anyway?”

Smiling fading away he closed his eyes again, rubbing his face. "Didn't say, wouldn't say, really," Crowley sighed, "Just said it was urgent, and private. I'll be seeing him tomorrow, first thing. Get that nonsense out of the way."

Beelzebub crosses their arms and glares at nothing, their flies buzzing around them lazily. “Well. If he tries anything...” They don’t finish their sentence, and instead look seriously at their friend. You know what to do.

"Yeah," Crowley nodded, not bothering to open his eyes as he forms the 'OK' sign with his hand. The exhaustion that comes only from fear and concern extended over hours is settling on him as he lays there. The worst of it was, it was not over. Sam was okay, sitting there next to him--at the same time they were absolutely not okay. There was nothing he could do about that, nothing more than he was already doing. It could get worse--it would get worse. There was nothing he could about that either. 

The strain of living in Hell was already significant. Living there as the entirely unrespected right hand of The Lord of Hell brought more. The Lord of Hell being his truest friend, spending the majority of his time attempting to protect them added a load of its own. This, this new thing was as much a strain as the rest put together. Crowley felt like he might snap.

Yet, he had no doubt, absolutely none that it was worse for Sam. How could it not be? And that, was the only thing that kept him from giving up. Kept him from letting himself snap.

Beelzebub senses the overwhelming despair wafting off of their friend, and in response they wrap their arms around him, trying to stave some of it off for now. The medal disappears from their hand and pins itself on their coat, but they ignore it. Forcing the monster in their body back, they hug their friend tightly and try to assure both of them that everything would be fine. I trust you. Trust me. It’s all going to be alright. “Its going to be okay, Raphie.” They whisper. “It has to be. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

Relaxing a touch at the embrace, Crowley returns it, wrapping his arms tight around the other demon. Breathing deeply, he does a rare thing, and allows himself to feel safe. This is the one place he can even pretend to feel safe. Sam was the only person whom he had ever felt truly comfortable with--the only one who had ever understood him. Had not judged him--at least not too harshly. They did call him an idiot a lot--but that was likely true.

"Yeah," he replied softly, but not without meaning, "We can get through anything together."

They lean on him, feeling their skin burn and itch where it has been touched, and they shiver and scratch at it as much as they dare. The exhaustion hit hard, and their stomach feels like something is tearing away at it. And who knows, maybe the other creature their child was indeed tearing away at them slowly. Maybe this child he’s gonna need a name, isn’t he would kill them before he was even born. How fitting would that be?

Seeing the way they began scratching--Crowley could guess why. Unsure how to help, he did the only thing that came to mind. Reaching out he gently rubbed their skin, wherever he felt appropriate that seemed to bother them. Hoping to potentially, at least help, wipe away the memory.

"We can make it through this," He whispered to them, guessing, at least partially, their thoughts, "No matter what happens. We'll get through it."

“I know.” Their eyes are slipping shut almost against their will, the comforting touch and words pairing with their overwhelming exhaustion bringing them to actually need to sleep, although demons normally didn’t require such a thing. Raph slept a lot more than they did, but now it looked like their body was shutting down for good... or at least it felt that way.

Gently, Crowley began to pet their hair once more. "Take a nap with me, will you?" He asks in a somewhat pleading voice. They need sleep, he can tell. It was not something demons were supposed to needing--and he did not want them to fight it. Of course, there were a great many things that Sam had gone through that day that were not normal for demons. It was no wonder that their body needed something different. 

"A nap sounds, so good," he murmured, sounding far more tired than he intended. The idea had been simply to make it sound like he wanted to sleep to get them to. However, lying there, he felt himself starting do drift. Breathing deeply, he felt his body relax, his mind beginning to slip.

They hum and cuddle a little closer, nodding sleepily. A little nap won’t hurt. Their flies settle down and they finally drift off into a naturally uneasy slumber, gripping Raph like a lifeline.

Crowley was asleep in seconds, mind drifting through a myriad of memories, fears, and fantasies. He was never, however, unaware of the sounds in the room, or the aura of Hell around him. Were someone to even approach the door he would be awake in an instant.

As Beelzebub sleeps, memories drift unbidden through their dreams. 

_Gabriel’s usual grin is back.  
“I just love you so much.” He places his hands on their hips. “And I’ve missed you!” He picks them up and spins them around in the air before bringing them in for a warm embrace.  
They laugh uncontrollably when he picks them up, and wrap their arms around him tightly. “Gabe!” They giggle. “You’re going to drop me if you keep doing that.”  
“Don’t you worry, I would never let you fall.”_

Perhaps they were simply dreaming of similar memories, or perhaps the power of the one growing within Beelzebub made a link between them, it was impossible to know.

_“Lord, I can’t imagine what it would be like to merely watch them from a distance like I had been planning on doing before they found me, never knowing what their gorgeous lips taste like...” Aaaaaand the daydreaming is back._

__

__

_Raphael wilted in his seat, seeming to crumple in on himself. Glancing up, he realized that Gabriel had no idea what he had just said. What that meant to him. His brother was lost thinking of Sam again. Chest aching, Raphael stood quietly, heading for the door._

_“It’s why I pity you, Raphael,” Gabriel says, smiling at Raphael sadly as his brother goes towards the door._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise. Beelzebub's pregnancy continues, and a rift begins to grow between them and Crowley.

Chapter 2  
\---------jump to next morning, Crowley in her 'office'------------

Simply calling the damp claustrophobic space an 'office' would be an overstatement. To say it was _Crowley's_ office simply sounded like a joke. In some ways, it was. It had been assigned to her by Lucifer himself, and as such could not be overrode by anyone--even The Lord of Hell. There was a cramped desk, a filing cabinet behind it, close enough the demon actually had to crawl over the desk to get behind it. It was far less than dignified, and as such, she had made sure to seat herself well before Hastur arrived.

Matte black leather over-the-knee boots with stiletto heels were the only real difference in her clothing than the day before. Crowley's hair was still down, long auburn curls falling around them--and yet they seemed somehow more feminine today. As they should.

Slipping into the office, bringing a miasma of stench with him, Hastur closed the door behind him. Giving Crowley a slimy smile that did not reach his eyes--eyes filled with hate--he sat in the chair opposite the desk. There was a sickening _squishing_ sound as he did so.

Wrinkling her nose, Crowley was unsure if the sound was from the actual chair, or the demon sitting in it. Honestly, she was unsure which one was more horrifying, and attempted to push it from her mind. "Duke Hastur," She leaned back in her seat, the chair creaking ominously, steepling her hands before her, "What did you need so desperately to discuss with me in private?" It was an effort to keep her tone civil. Especially after the day she'd had yesterday.

Rubbing his hands together, eyes darting around the small office, the demon leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, I thought you, err, that is," Hastur gave an uncomfortable smile (not a smile that implied discomfort, one that was simply, uncomfortable to look at), "The Lord Bleezebub, would probably like to know, or it might mean to them, something. That is-"

"Get on with it." Crowley snapped, cutting off the demon's stammering. Truthfully, she had much preferred it when he had simply been an arrogant ass. Things were always easier to deal with when the people who hated you acted like it. Instead of stumbling and pretending to suck up to you in the most awkward manner.

"Yes, of course," Hastur bobbed his head, attempting to pass a snarl for a smile, "There is word, on the surface, of unsanctioned demonic activity."

Brows furrowing, Crowley lowered her hands to her lap. _"Unsanctioned_ demonic activity? What are they doing, helping people?"

"No, no," Hastur shook his head quickly, "They are runnin' around building cults."

"Cults. Demonic. Evil," Crowley stood abruptly, "Sounds like a perfectly demon thing to do, to me. But please, keep an eye on it. If anything new develops, let me know." This was even stupider than she had thought. If this _Duke of Hell_ remained in her office one moment longer, she was actually going to throttle him.

"Of course, of course," Hastur stood, following suit. There was a wet sucking sound when he did so. Like pulling your foot out of thick mud abruptly. Crowley suppressed a shudder. That chair would need to be burned. "You _will_ tell, Lor-"

"Lord Beelzebub will be informed." She snapped, raising a brow. It was as kind of a dismissal as he was going to get.

It seemed that even Duke Hastur was capable of picking up the not-so-subtle indication. Bowing his head slightly, a deliberately mocking movement, he exited the office.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Crowley side, putting a hand to her head, rubbing her temple. Perhaps she _would_ take Sam up on their offer of setting him behind a desk for the next few centuries. Dealing with his odd news, and strange demands were something she did _not_ have time to deal with. There were more important things going on in Hell these days.  
Speaking of, she scrambled over her desk, knocking down no less than three stacks of paper as she did so. Waving her hand behind her on the way out, all of them managed to end up back on the desk as they were. 

Heels clicking through the hard floors, Crowley made her sauntering way through the halls of Hell. There was something empowering about the solid click of a good set of heels. Like an alarm echoing through the corridors, warning the world of her presence. It was satisfying. 

By the time she reached the throne room, much of the frustration at having Hastur had dissipated in the ringing clicks. Pushing open the door, she repeated her ritualistic mock-bow before strutting to Sam's side. Crowley was not entirely sure what court was being held for this morning, but she was fairly certain it was almost over.

Beelzebub held up a hand when Crowley entered, signaling that Crowley should be allowed to return to her spot before the demons continued speaking. Dagon, who had been unlucky enough to be chosen to speak on this matter, nodded at Crowley. Honestly, she had never had too much of a problem with Crowley, although she couldn't help but be a little jealous of the other demon. Once Crowley was in her rightful place, Dagon gulped and continued. "My Lord, we mean no disrespect with our... inquiries. The other demons are simply confused as to how... this is going to play out, for our side. We were under the impression that..." She seemed to be at a loss for words, looking at Crowley for a moment, which only served to make her more embarrassed.

Standing with her hands in front of her, one hand holding the other wrist, Crowley's eyes swept across those gathered before settling on Dagon as she spoke. She was one of the few demons that seemed to have some amount of respect for Crowley--and that was enough for her to be in the demon's good graces (or perhaps, evil graces?). As such, she felt the slightest bit of compassion for the demon who was so obviously uncomfortable and struggling. Though, at first, she was not sure what exactly had the Lord of Files so uncertain.

Then it clicked. The way Dagon looked at her uncomfortably. It was a common belief that Crowley and Beelzebub were lovers. A rumor that she had not exactly discouraged. It was something that caused demons to step lighter around her--and one less avenue for them to attempt to approach and use Sam. 

Raising a brow at Dagon, Crowley looked at her expectantly. "That?"

Dagon looked like she might just burst into hellfire at any moment. "This all just came out of nowhere, My Lord, and I mean no disrespect to you or the demon Crowley, but..."

"But?" Crowley cocks her head, a finger beginning to tap impatiently on her wrist, "Where _exactly_ would disrespect come into play? I'm not sure I understand what _exactly_ you are getting at, Lord Dagon?"

Dagon looked away and ignored Crowley’s question out of pure embarrassment, trying not to offend her. She really didn’t want either of these people to hate her any more than they did the other demons of hell. “The demons were wondering, My Liege, why exactly...” She shifted in place. “Why exactly _you’re_ doing it?”

Clenching her jaw, Crowley forced herself to take a deep breath. She really did not dislike Dagon, but this was dancing on the last edge of her nerves. Apparently she had not let go of the frustration that was Hastur as well as she had thought. Tension pulsing at her temples she lifted her chin the slightest bit, staring down at Dagon. 

"Why would they not? They are the eldest of The Demon Princes, and _Lord of Hell."_ Crowley states, matter-of-factly, allowing annoyance to color their voice. Let the assembled demons interpret the emotion how they would. "Doing this is a _great honor._ Who _else_ should be the one, but Lord Beelzebub?" The words tasted bitter on her tongue as she said them. It showed on her face, but she did not care. None of those assembled had the slightest idea why the thought made her sick.

Dagon flinched at her tone. “I- Of course, I-“

Beelzebub cut her off by tapping a finger on their leg and tilting their head. Every demon in the room went silent as the Lord of Hell addressed them. “You no longer have a need to speak, Dagon, Crowley has summed up the situation adequately. I am doing my duty to the Great Plan, and to the Dark Lord. If we ever want a chance at the Great War, we will need the strongest warriors, and rest assured that the antichrist will be every bit as terrifying as was written in the Scriptures.” They stood up, and the demons in the room instinctively cowered a little as they moved closer to the other demons, surveying them coldly. “If anyone has any _inquiries,_ I’d suggest you keep them to yourselves. Your job is to serve the Great Plan, and it is not in your place to question either I or the Dark Lord's actions.” Their eyes are full of a challenge as they glare at the demons. “I am doing my part in the Plan. I would suggest that you all do the same, or I will find _other_ things to keep you all occupied. Are we clear?”

Crowley stayed in her place by the now empty throne, but her eyes followed the path Beelzebub took. Gold eyes flashing, she locked eyes with each demon they passed--at least any that were not already looking at the floor. She made sure they _were_ by the time she moved on. This was an important moment, one she was going to do everything within her power to help Sam solidify. 

She did not bother to hide the hostility she felt bubbling beneath her skin. There were never any demons 'close' to her in her position, however, at this moment, those 'closest' to her edged away, giving a wide berth. Crowley wanted to strut into the crowd, hiss at them until they ran. That would not do, of course, but she _wanted_ to. Wanted someone to take out her frustration and fear on. 

They could feel it. Most of them assumed why she felt that way, why she was unable to look at Beelzebub's stomach. It could not have been farther from the truth, but Crowley could use it.

At the end of their speech, there was a murmur of affirmation among the assembled demons all very intent on their own feet.

Beelzebub stared them all down for a moment. “Alright then.” Then their voice dropped to a dangerous level and they snarled. _“Get out of my sight.”_

Immediately, all the demons in the room scattered, some letting out undignified whimpers and squeals as they did so. Dagon was the first one out the door.

When the door clicked shut, the room filled with hollow clapping. Crowley leaned against the throne, on elbow propped on the arm, applauding. "Well done, Sam," Her applause might have had a sarcastic feel, but her words were sincere, "They were practically shitting themselves." Lowering her hands, she remained leaned against the throne. For some inexplicable reason, she felt exhausted already. It was still morning.

"I doubt anyone will be questioning again any time soon." A feral grin. "And if they _do._ Well, I 'll just show them my teeth."

Beelzebub turned to face her, still with a guarded expression on their face, although it dropped after a moment, and they also looked exhausted. They had adjusted their outfit to compliment their medal perfectly, knowing that if they seemed like they were hiding it things would get much worse for them. They raised an eyebrow at the expression on their friends face. “Easy there, Raphie, or you’ll add more fuel to the fire.” The words were slightly teasing, and they adjusted their medal absently.

Lips curling, Crowley's eyes flashed menacingly. She held it for a second before it broke and she laughed. Standing up straight she dusted off her hands, sauntering towards Sam. Heels clicking, echoing through the room. "What fun is a fire if you don't keep feeding it?" She responded flippantly, stopping beside her friend and bumping them playfully with her shoulder.  
"It _was_ well done," She reiterated, looking around the now empty room, "I really _do_ hope that's the end of all that." Crowley was not sure she could handle another interaction like that one. If it had been any other demon but Dagon, she really _might_ have shown her teeth.

Beelzebub sighed and shook their head angrily. “For their sake, it had _better_ be. The last thing I need is them questioning my authority when I have to worry about _this.”_ They wave a hand at their body. “Dagon is the one of the more tolerable demons in the court but honestly, she never knows when to _shut her mouth.”_

"No kidding," Crowley muttered, snarling to herself at the memory. Sighing, she began stalking through the room, restless as ever. "With that out of the way, what now?" She managed to ask the question with confident casualness. It was a struggle. Crowley was afraid, like she had not been in a very long time. This was so far outside the realm of anything they had dealt with. Something she felt like, she could not help with. 

No matter how much she was there for Sam, it was not the same. Crowley could not carry this burden for them--no matter how she was there, or what support she gave, she was not the one carrying the antichrist inside of her body.

Beelzebub stared down at their body, taking their medal off once more and fiddling with it, as if trying to diffuse a bomb. “I have no idea.” They admitted, a little breathless with just how in over their head they were. “He didn’t tell me what to do after it was over. Just gave me the medal and told me not to get discorporated, or I'd lose the baby.” They shivered, looking as though they might be sick. “I’d have to repeat the process if that happened.”

Jaw clenching once more, Crowley moved to her friend's side. Putting a hand on their arm, the squeezed gently. "I won't let that happen," She said with determination, "We'll get through this, together. I've got your back, always." She leaned her head down slightly, catching Beelzebub's eyes.

"I _won't_ let anything harm you," She said, conviction ringing in her voice, "We'll see this through, then it will be over. No do-overs." Potentially, there would be no _anything_ after. That was the larger weight, hanging over this situation. The thing growing in her friend's stomach meant the end of the world. One way or another.

Somewhere, deep in her gut, Crowley hoped they would lose.

Beelzebub felt none of the hesitation at the end of the world that Raph did, mainly because the part of them that was still cursing and screaming at heaven, at Gabriel, at God Herself, _demanded_ blood as repayment for their suffering. They knew Raph had an odd attachment to the mortal world, but a part of them hoped that when it was all over and the forces of Heaven were nothing but burnt ash under their feet, that something _better_ could be created. 

They hoped that Crowley would be able to understand. 

Shaking out of their thoughts, Beelzebub smiled faintly at their friend. “I have your back too, Raphie. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

"Course not," She smiled at her friend, giving their arm one last squeeze before releasing it, "Us against it all, right?" Crowley gave a little wink before looking about the room once more. 

"On another note, I think I need to go topside soon. Not until we're sure no one is going to be giving you any trouble," She assured, resisting the urge to begin passing again, "It's probably nothing. Weell, I'm nearly positive its nothing, but Hastur said something odd."

Beelzebub didn’t voice their thoughts about her going upside (which were somewhere along the lines of: if you want to go see Aziraphale, just ask for once), and instead raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”

Thankful that they did not mention anything about the request, Crowley made a pained face. She started pacing again. "Something about 'unsanctioned demonic activity'," She threw up her hands as if to say _I don't get it either_ before continuing, "Said they are starting cults? I don't know. It seems like perfectly normal demonic activity to me, but if Hastur is interested in it, it's either something actually odd, or something he wants me to ignore. Either way..." She shrugged.

“It’s worth investigating, I think. Besides, you deserve a break.” Beelzebub lightly bumped their friends shoulder. “You can go whenever you’d like and stay however long you want... within reason, of course.”

A small smile from Crowley, followed by a hard look. "Like I said, I'm not going _anywhere_ until I'm confident no one is going to start trouble with me gone," Crowley stated once more. She knew this was a bad time, both in Hell in general, and for Sam. There was a touch of guilt at running away like this. Because it was running away. She could always have another demon sent to Earth to investigate. It did not have to be her. But she was going mad.

Crowley enjoyed Earth. She wished she could spend more time there, but she took what she could. Preferably in London--in Soho. Aziraphale did not remember her, and that was probably for the best. Not that there had been much for him to forget, he'd barely known she existed before the fall anyway. Still, she found herself watching him. As she always had. It was both painful and comforting. She needed that now. Even, if just for a day. A moment.

“Raphie.” Beelzebub took her hands in theirs. “No one is going to start anything- not after that meeting. And even if they did, well...” They shivered. “You felt my aura, Raph. I doubt the Morningstar would want his heir to be harmed. He did mention... benefits, from doing this.” The way they said _benefits_ suggested they thought that it would be more nasty than helpful. “His protection would be one of them.”

Brows furrowing, Crowley squeezed their hand tightly. "Sam..." She didn't know how to put it into words. She _desperately_ wanted to go. But, she _knew_ she should not leave them now. It was a horrible tearing inside of her, two halves of her being pulled in opposite directions. And here Sam was, trying to make it easy on her, and she would not accept it.

Crowley pulled them into a tight hug. "I love you, Sam. Don't ever forget that."

Beelzebub hugged her back tightly. “I won’t forget. I love you too, Raphie. It’s alright, I’ll be fine without you for a couple of days. You’re going to explode if you stay here any longer. Just go up topside for a while. If I need you, I’ll call you back immediately. Okay?”

Pulling away, Crowley held them at arm's length, looking closely into their eyes. "You _better,"_ She said sternly, but could not stop the smile from coming to her face, "Just a couple days. I'll be back before you know it." She hadn't even left yet, but she already felt guilty.

“I know. The last thing I’m worried about is you abandoning me.” They rolled their eyes, the very thought is ridiculous. As if they’d ever be separated that long. “I’ll be _fine,_ Raph.”

Crowley's smile became a full grin. Sam's confidence easing them. "Fine, fine, I'm off then." One last squeeze, and she released them. Turning to the door, she paused, straightening herself. Smile sliding away, she set her face to stone, eyes sharp. Cracking her neck, she banged open the door, sauntering out. Clicking echoing behind her as she headed for the exit.

Beelzebub watched her go, and the instant the door is shut they doubled over in pain with a hiss, trying to keep their aura under control. God, it was _tearing them apart, it had to be._ They stumbled to their throne, miracling the door locked as they collapsed into the seat, curling up into themselves. _They're fine. Keep treading water._

\--------------------------------------------

It was almost _exactly_ two days later to the minute when Crowley re-entered Hell. The heels were gone, replaced by expensive looking snake skin shoes. His hair was not loose, but pulled up into a bun. The sunglasses he wore on Earth were still on his face—but hiding his eyes was not enough to disguise the dangerous look on his face. Demons that, on a normal day, would sneer and taunt his every step found something better to do. Somewhere better to be as he passed by. Crowley moved in his usual fluid saunter, but there was an edge to it this day. Like each step could cut—and no one wanted to find out if that was true. His right hand, the one with the burn scar, was clenched into a fist. It was truly just a scar now—yet it was pulsing. It did that, he had noticed, on occasion. At first he had thought nothing of it. Now he was not so sure. There seemed something more to it. Something to do with Sam.

Sam. It was still fairly early, but as far as Crowley knew there was nothing specific scheduled that morning—but a lot could have changed in two days. It certainly had for _him._ Not bothering to stop and ask, he did not want to speak to another demon, he followed his senses. Followed the uncomfortable mixture that now represented The Lord of Hell.

If Crowley continued following their aura, he’d see that Beelzebub was currently having an audience with the Dark Lord. Or, at the very least, _had_ been. They were exiting the chambers now, exhausted as ever. Their body had been ever changing these past couple of days, ranging from a bone deep exhaustion that kept them confined to their room to sudden bursts of energy that had them nearly clawing at their own skin. Thankfully, no demons seemed to want to speak to them after the last meeting, which meant that they could hide away for a while, although they couldn’t avoid talking to Satan. _At least it's over now._

Rounding the corner, Crowley already had a good idea where he was headed. There were not many places that The Lord of Hell would be in this area of Hell. Truthfully, outside of Satan's quarters, there was not much _at all_ in this area besides his quarters. That Sam was there did not make him feel any better about having left. 

Their aura was even worse up close, but he did not flinch--even if he wanted to. Stepping up, as per usual, into his traditional place. His face looked strained, his aura clashing with The Lord of Hell's. Metaphorical sparks flew as he came close.

Beelzebub saw Raph and raised an eyebrow. _Back already?_ They tried to force their aura to a manageable state, noticing the negative way he reacted to their mere presence. The hallway was practically empty, so making their way to their office was, for once, an uncrowded affair.

A barest shake of his head. _Not now. Not here._ Even if there were no people in halls--they were all avoiding the two demons- this was still too public. Besides, he was far more interested in speaking of what Sam had been up to. What they had been doing with Satan. 

Reaching their quarters, he continued the same routine. Opening the door, searching, holding open the door.

Beelzebub walked in, already in a state of anticipation as to why Raph would come so early. Some of the stiffness came out of their shoulders and they sighed, turning to face their friend.

“How are things?” Crowley asked, leaning against the door once it was closed, “The cults on Earth don’t seem to be anything.” _What did the dark lord want?_

Crowley did not mention the angel. They both knew it had been on his plans to see Aziraphale. Well, to watch him—never speak. He did not want to speak of it now. Or maybe ever.

“Things are the same as always.” They crossed their arms. “You’re back early.” _Is something wrong? Did something happen?_

"I did what I needed to do," Crowley waved it off, beginning to pace the room, picking up random objects, looking them over, and setting them down, "No reason to waste anymore time than necessary." _I can't._ He did not look at his friend, not directly.

Beelzebub softened a fraction. “Raph. I told you you could stay as long as you wanted. I would have been fine a couple more days.”

"It's fine," Crowley responded immediately. Not snapping, but his words nearly jumping over the end of Sam's. Clenching his jaw, he was running out of things in the room to touch.

Beelzebub tilted their head to the side, and the assorted earth knick-knacks that they kept squirreled away deep in their desk sat on the surface of the desk now, giving Crowley more objects to interact with while he paced. “Did something happen?” They tried again, unsure of what was wrong. He didn’t usually come back from his earth trips _more_ stressed than he left.

Silently thankful for the objects, Crowley immediately picked one up, temples pulsing as he ground his teeth. _Did something happen?_ "Yes." His lip raised in a silent hiss. "And at the same time a huge, resounding, no."

“Care to elaborate?”

Taking utmost care not to slam the object in the desk, Crowley’s hand trembled with the effort. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself enough to _not_ snarl at his friend. Sam was trying to help. Picking up the next object, though not really seeing it, he considered. 

“I went to Soho.” It was a simple and obvious statement. Of course he had. They had both known that he would. “There is no bookshop.”

Beelzebub froze in place, and a feeling of dread settled in their stomach. _Oh._ “Raph...” They trailed off, completely at a loss for words. _They can’t fix this._

"It doesn't matter," Crowley said through gritted teeth, moving on to a new item, "Less distractions anyway. My place is here." The demon felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“No, it’s not.” They whispered more to themselves than him. _Your place has always been with him. But I kept you because I’m selfish._ They felt like this was 100% their fault.

"Of course it is," Crowley replied, finally looking to them. Setting down whatever it was he had been holding, he moved to stand just in front of Beelzebub. "My place has always been by your side. It's the only place I've ever belonged."

“Raph.” Beelzebub said again. They didn’t know why they were so upset; the words would normally be comforting but now they felt hollow. Empty. More like fuel to a growing fire than a soothing balm to a recent wound. “You deserve _better_ than this.” They admitted. “I...” _I shouldn’t have forced you to stay with me._

Frowning, Crowley pulled back slightly. “Better?” There was a bitterness to his voice, “You what? Do you...” He stopped, swallowing hard. He couldn’t say it. _Do you not want me here?_

Beelzebub's eyes widened when he stepped back, a thousand irrational fears going through their mind. They knew what he was thinking, how they had come across, and they immediately grabbed both of his hands and squeezed tightly. “Raph. Of course I want you here.” _Don’t leave. Please don’t leave._ “I just- I know all of this is so unfair to you, Raph, and I want you to be...” They laughed a little, but it was almost hollow and desperate. “It’s stupid but I just want you to be _happy._ And that’s not possible here. But I can’t- I do want you here. What would I do without you?” They were rambling slightly, panic building.

Squeezing their hands back, Crowley stepped closer again. “Sam, you idiot,” He pulled them into a fierce hug, _“Happiness_ isn’t possible _anywhere._ Not for us. Not now.” He kissed the top of their head as he warred with the bitterness roiling in his stomach. 

“Even if it was, I could never find happiness without you. You’ve been the only person to ever bring me joy.”

 _Then why do I feel like I’ve failed you so badly?_ Beelzebub still buried their face in their friend’s shirt. They weren’t sorry for keeping their friend here, but at the same time they felt so guilty. Would Crowley have been happier on the surface? They thought so. ~~They knew so.~~ “I need you here.” They admitted softly. “I know it’s suffocating. But I don’t know how I’d do it on my own. I’d probably go fucking crazy.”

Clinging to his friend, Crowley felt a part of him draining away. There had been a piece, such a small piece, that still harbored hope. His time on Earth, watching Aziraphale, dreaming. It had been his escape. A place he could imagine things being different. Somewhere he could pretend there was a future. It was gone. 

“It’s no easier for you,” He said softly. Crowley could not deny that it was suffocating. It seemed as though he had been treading water for eternity. Every day it got harder. Like drowning slowly over the course of centuries. 

“We don’t have to do it alone. Anything. Ever.” Handling Hell alone seemed impossible.

“You're right.” Beelzebub said softly, although all of this still rather felt like an empty, hollow facade. “I’m... I’m sorry about him, Raph.”

“Yeah,” Crowley responded, still not wanting to talk about it. It really was best. Those dreams hadn’t stood a chance _before,_ they certainly didn’t _now…_ Better to never see the principality again—to put it from his mind. 

Pulling away enough to look at their face, he looked in their eyes. “How are you holding up?”

A shot of pain raced through their body, and they tried to keep it off of their face. “I’m alright.”

“Liar,” Crowley responded immediately, brows furrowing. He had noticed a slight tending of muscles, a minuscule crinkling around the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Beelzebub winced at the first word, almost hating how well they know each other. It was so easy for Raph to tell when they were lying. “It just...” The medal on their chest seems to glimmer, and they bare their teeth at it for a moment. “...He just... I don’t know how much this is supposed to hurt, but..” _But it feels like it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does._

Frown deepening, Crowley looked down at their stomach. Kneeling before them, he gently pressed one hand, then the other against their stomach. Just as before, the initial wave of power physically rocked him. It was stronger now--almost painful. Gritting his teeth, he did not let up. It settled once again, no longer assaulting him. He delved deeper this time. 

_There._ Such a small little thing. So full of _power._ That was specifically the problem. So much power, such a small creature--just a handful of cells at this point. Nothing to do with it, nowhere to go. And Sam, poor Sam was the only conduit it had. So charged with their own demonic power, it was clashing--painfully.

"Hold still," Crowley hissed through clenched teeth--but he was not talking to Beelzebub. 

The room grew hot, heavy. Pressure building to the point of near painful. A sweat broke out on the demon as he knelt there. Reaching the point of pain, the room shook, the ground cracked. He hissed.

It was over. Shaky hands lower, Crowley looked up at them. He was a little pale, sweaty, but otherwise fine. The ground beneath him was scorched and cracked. All of Hell still reverberated with the sheer scope of the power just unleashed.

Beelzebub looked astonished. “Raph, are you okay?” They say automatically, staring down at him and the newly cracked floor of their office. The beast in their stomach had settled a bit, as if getting ready for a small nap. Their aura felt less charged now. The pain had shifted to be more of a heavy weight on their body. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

"Yeah," Crowley responded, voice a little rough. Clearing his throat he leaned back, sitting now, "Yeah." His voice was more clear that time. Running fingers through his hair he finally looked down at the floor.

"Damn." He smirked a touch, running a finger along one of the cracks. "Powerful little bastard."

“He is, isn’t he...?” It wasn’t exactly fondness in Beelzebubs voice, but something more along the lines of fascination. They offered a hand to Crowley, pulling him to his feet and opening their mouth to say something else, but they were cut off by a noise quickly approaching the office door. If one looked into it enough, they’d find a familiar, toady energy wafting from the hallway.

Accepting their hand, Crowley stood. At the sound of footsteps he whirled, body tensing. Without a conscious thought, a long matte black sword was in his hand. The hilt was in the form of a snake, holding an 'apple' in its mouth (a ruby). Lip curling he let out a hiss. "Hastur." He took two steps towards the door and stopped, waiting. _Daring_ the little toad demon to knock on the door.

“Raph-“ Beelzebub started to warn, but they were cut off by Hastur rapping a frantic knock at the door. 

“My Lord!” The slimy demon's voice was muffled from the other side of the door as he threw it open carelessly, barely paying any attention to who was inside. Beelzebub opened their mouth to snarl at the other demon, but can barely get in a word edgewise with Hasturs yelling. It’s hard to make out what Hastur was saying, but a few words such as: _Lizzie, cult, antichrist, and Armageddon_ carried through his senseless rant.

Hissing, Crowley took a step forward, sword raising . The tip rested against Hastur's shoulder, blade just touching his neck. "Choose your next words. Very. Carefully," Crowley hissed softly, gold filling his eyes. Demonic energy was pouring off of him in waves. The remnants of the anti-christ's power--which he had been so recently filled with--leeches out with his own.

((And it was at that moment Hastur knew- he fucked up.))

Hastur yelped a bit at the feel of the blade on his shoulder. He wasn’t normally very intimidated by Crowley- after all, he was only Lord Beelzebubs little pet. But at the moment, the guard dog was definitely doing damn good at his job, hackles raised and teeth bared, and Hastur maybe-sort-of regretted running in there without thinking. “I- uh- My apologies for interrupting,” He said hastily, not really quite sure what he was interrupting but having somewhat of an idea. “I just- We felt the energy come out of here, and we wondered if-“

"Everything is _fine."_ Crowley hissed, entire body still tense, weaving slightly from side to side, like a snake ready to strike. "Lord Beelzebub is _fine._ The antichrist is _fine."_

A smile, more like a baring of teeth. "Thank you, _Duke Hastur,_ for your concern."

“I- uhh.. Lord Beelzebub-“ Hastur turned to face the Lord of Hell, who merely shaked their head.

“Don’t address me, Duke Hastur. You’re speaking to Crowley at the moment, and I’m perfectly content to leave it that way.” Their voice was cold as ice, and the message was clear. _I'm going to let Crowley do as he pleases, and if that includes killing you, well- I have nothing against it._ Hastur gulped.

Another half step forward. The blade pressed into the demon's throat, breaking skin. Crowley hissed again. "Does the _Duke_ have anything else," He spoke softly, violently, "He wishes to say?" It was technically a question. It sounded more like a threat.

Hastur merely shook his head, pulling away from the sword a bit and trying not to look as panicked as he felt (which he failed miserably at).

"In that case," Crowley lowered his sword, but took another step forward, leaning in, _"run."_ The last word came out as a harsh hiss, another wave of demonic energy pulsing from him.

Hastur booked it for the exit, yelping a little. Dagon, who was also coming to see what all the fuss was about, got shoved out of the way as he made to run as far away from the office as possible. She was left in the now open doorway, very confused. The fish demon peeked in the room from her new position on the floor and saw a clearly very pissed off Crowley and an equally irritated Beelzebub behind him. Getting meekly to her feet, Dagon slowly shut the door to the hallway, whistling innocently.

Taking a deep, slow, calming breath, the sword disappeared. Both hands going to his head, gripping his hair, Crowley snarled silently one last time before lowering his arms. Face calm once more, he turned around once more, facing Beelzebub once more.

"Well, I don't think he will enter without knocking again."

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow, trying not to snicker a little, because honestly they find the whole thing rather amusing (Raph clearly wasn’t in a laughing mood, though, so they hold it back). “I doubt we’ll even see him for the next few weeks, with how badly you scared him. That was much more effective at getting him out of our hair than deskwork would have been.”

"I hope so," Crowley groaned, coming over and sitting on the edge of their desk, "Dagon was out there." He winced. Scaring her was not something he had wanted to do. In fact, he had not actually had a chance to see her since the moment in the throne room. She was the only demon outside of Sam that he was ever able to simply talk to. Someone who did not look down on him, spit at his name when he wasn't around. Something would need to be done, after this. Crowley was not sure he could handle Dagon avoiding him.

Beelzebub also winced. “Ah. Yes. She hasn’t been very eager to see me since the incident in the throne room.” They hadn’t _wanted_ to make her the scapegoat so they could scare the court into submission, but it had been a perfect opportunity to squash a plethora of questions before they even began. “When you see her next, you’ll have to let her know that she's off the hook. Honestly, she was just a convenient excuse to scare everyone.” They shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah," Crowley nodded, understanding how Beelzebub felt, and agreeing with the assessment. He hadn't felt bad about throwing Dagon under the bus in the moment. Of course, there had been a lot of other things on his mind at the time--much higher concerns than the feelings of one demon. Now, however, it was weighing on him a bit.

"I'll make sure she knows." He nodded again, staring at the far wall, drifting off into the thoughts of various things that needed to be handled after _that_ little explosion. Hastur and Dagon would not be the only ones to have felt it. There wasn't a demon in Hell who hadn't. Likely, Hastur would be telling anyone he saw what he _thought_ had happened. That in itself was not a bad thing, but it would have to be guided. Carefully.

Beelzebub hummed slightly, before feeling an odd sensation on their chest. They glance down to see the crown on their medal had turned from a gold/silver to blood red, and droplets of blood bead on the edges, dripping down onto their coat.

It took a moment for Crowley to notice something out of place. Turning his head, he stared at the medal. Another second for what he was seeing to click in his mind. "Sam?" The concern was clear in his voice. Eyes flicking up to their face, then down to the medal. "Sam?! Are you okay?"

Beelzebub was confused as all hell, and maybe a little frightened. “It’s not... it’s not _my_ blood, I-“ They touched the medal to take it off, and immediately hissed. A sultry voice spoke into the room, coming from everywhere but also nowhere all at once. 

“Clever Crowley, trying to help his Lord.” The voice hissed. “Darling, when will you learn to stay out of business that isn’t yours?”

Physically flinching at the voice, Crowley stood immediately, glaring around the room before settling his eyes on the pin. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, the demon was silent a moment. 

"Protecting Lord Beelzebub is _entirely_ my business," he countered, only the slightest bit of a hiss in his voice.

“Trust me when I say that this situation is completely _personal,_ pet.” The voice sounded amused now. “They chose this. The antichrist is _their_ burden and their burden alone. They can figure out how to handle it, or it will kill them.”

 _Him._ Beelzebub thought, but getting their voice to work isn’t exactly possible at the moment.

Lip curling, Crowley's entire body was nearly vibrating with tension and withheld emotion. "How _exactly_ does killing your eldest prince and child help you?" He hissed through clenched teeth, _knowing_ it was a mistake as he spoke it. He could _not,_ however, simply roll over and let Sam handle this alone.

There was a cold, hollow laugh, and the blood dripping off of the medal increased a little. “Watch your mouth there, little guard dog. People might even get the impression you actually _care.”_ The voice still sounded rather amused. “And _I_ wouldn’t be killing anyone. If they can’t handle it, then that’s their problem. You shouldn’t meddle in affairs that aren’t your own.” There is another laugh and the medal seems to glint in an odd way. “Ha. Medal. Meddle.”

Blood began to dribble from Crowley's hands--nails digging into his palms. The demon's entire body trembled as he stared at the pin. The threat was clear. If he continued, Sam would be the one punished. Satan _knew_ they still cared about each other. He had been witness to their friendship before, had even encouraged it. Now, it was simply another chain he had lashed around them. Another leash upon which to lead them around.

"Yessir," He hissed the words through clenched teeth, eyes on the floor. He could not look at his friend.

“Aw. Don’t pout, little brother.” The voice was full of mock sympathy. “Sammy will be just fine. Can you imagine any of the other princes in their place? They wouldn’t have been able to do this half as well. But I have full confidence that Buzzy here can pull it off. Can’t you, love?” Beelzebub couldn’t exactly answer, but the voice continued on as if they responded in full. “Great, glad to hear it. Anyway, keep up the good work. Ciao~!” Beelzebubs hand dropped from the medal and they gasped for air. The antichrist had felt the presence of its father, and it strained to reach out, causing waves of pain throughout their body. The medal returned to normal, but Beelzebub had already taken it off and dropped it away from them, still trying to regain their breath.

Feeling sick, hands still clenched, Crowley did not look up. He can feel his friend's distress, but he could not look. _He_ was still watching, the demon knew it. To go to them now, even as comfort, it would only make things worse. Chest aching, eyes burning, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time since the fall, Crowley had no idea _what to do._ So very lost, he couldn’t even reach out to the one person he swore he would always stand beside.

For a second, the pain was so intense that Beelzebub almost screamed, but then the little beastie seemed to realize that his father wasn’t around and he settled back down again, and Beelzebub forced themselves to take a shaky breath. _Not even Crowley could help them._ They felt very dizzy, so they sat themselves down on the floor, nearly wanting to vomit but not allowing themselves to be so weak. _Your burden. Your burden._

Unable to take it, Crowley turned away. "Sam...." There was so much in the one word, all the things he could not say. _I'm so sorry. I love you. I would do anything for you. This is the one thing I can't do. I would. **I would.** _

The pain was too much. Crowley left the office.

“Raph-“ The name was a panicked, desperate sound, but he was already gone. A bone deep _terror_ fills Beelzebub’s bones. _He left. He left. He’s gone now, is this what you wanted you stupid insect?_ Their panic is overwhelming and they gasp for breath. _He finally figured it out, you’re beyond what he can do for you now, he knows how fucking_ **useless** _you are, look at what you’ve done, Samandiriel! How could you have ever tricked_ **two archangels** _into caring about you when you’re so_ **broken.** _This thing is going to_ **kill you** _and he can’t stand to watch so he’s leaving, he’s leaving and it’s all your fault,_ **it's all your fault Sam- <\b>  
They let out a sob as they let out their wings, covering their ears with their hands and trying to block out all of the noise. The buzzing was hellish, they _can't breathe,_ they’re going to **die here.****

**_God, Sam, what did you_ **do?****


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes some bad decisions. Gabriel makes an appearance.

Eyes on the floor, heart hammering, he walked, one foot after the other. Running, Crowley was running. Running away from the one person in all of creation that had ever mattered--that had ever cared. Samandiriel, the one who had stuck their neck out for him time after time. Stayed by his side since before time. Stood up for him when he didn't deserve it. Protected him when he was wrong. _Believed_ in him when anyone else would laugh. And he was _running away._

A trail of blood followed him through the halls of Hell. If only his life would drain away with it. Let him slowly drip away until nothing was left. An escape from this eternity of pain. Of failure. Of _running._

Without thought, _unable to think_ the demon wound deeper and deeper through the halls. Suddenly, the power surrounding him reached through the pain and self-hatred. Looking up, Crowley was standing before a large door. A familiar door, even if he had never been on the other side.

Something snapped. Shattered. Obliterated. Screaming wordlessly, the demon began banging bloody hands against the door.

The door shivered under his weight, but it wasn’t a shiver of fear. More of... amusement? In a blink of an eye, Crowley was sitting in the office of Satan himself. Not his personal chambers, of course, only the princes were allowed there. But the office was the next closest thing.

The sudden shift was enough for Crowley to fall to his hands and knees, bloody palms splayed on the floor before his eyes. Panting, he stayed like that a moment, some level of realization of what he had done reaching him. It was not enough, however, to calm him. To rein him in. At this point, it seemed there was no reason to hold back. Not anymore.

Looking up, he leaned up, still on his knees. _"Fuck you,"_ He hissed.

Satan laughed, a cruel thing that made the very room shudder. “You’re so cute, little brother. Still as articulate as ever, I see.”

The familiarity with which those words were thrown at him cut through Crowley like razors. Snarling he surged to his feet. Stepping forward he slammed his hands onto the desk, leaning forward. _"Why?!"_ He was nearly screaming, "What does this accomplish!? Do you not have _enough!?!_ Have we not given you _everything!?!"_

He smiled pleasantly, and Crowley found himself forced to sit down and shut his mouth while he speaks. “Easy, Crawly.” He sounded more amused than put off by his little outburst. “Silly little snake. Of course you haven’t given me everything. You two still have your little connection. Once they hate you as much as you hate them, _then_ I’ll have everything.”

Trembling in his seat, Crowley glared at him. At the being he had once called _brother._ Rage and pain roiled through him in waves. In that moment, sitting there, unable to move, to speak, to do _anything,_ he realized the futility of it. He was powerless. Had _always_ been powerless. Even in Heaven, as an Archangel, he had been powerless to stop anything. To do anything meaningful. Not for those that mattered.

Protecting Sam, being there for them, that had been a game. One that Satan had been willing to watch for a while, be amused by--but now it was over. Crowley could do _nothing._

Eyes slowly lowering, the demon physically deflated. The fight leaving him. Replaced with a hollow anguish. Everything was meaningless. It always had been. _That,_ was The Great Plan. It meant that nothing really _mattered._

“Oh, don’t be like that.” He partially released his hold on the demon, allowing him to speak. “Honestly, you were the one who chose to leave them there. I should give you a reward for doing my job for me.” He still looked like this situation was a joke to him. “I don’t want you to help them with your _magic,_ you idiot. I don’t care if you help them in other ways. But by all means, if you _want_ to leave the poor thing by themselves, be my guest. I’m sure they’ll do fine. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve left them for other distractions, now would it?”

Flinching visibly, Crowley hissed. The blow was too close to home, it cracked something in him. Right when he thought he had been thoroughly shattered. He no longer had the energy, the _will_ to fight. Not a battle he would clearly lose. 

"May I go?" His voice was hoarse as he asks, eyes still on the floor.

The Dark Lord shook his head, a twisted version of a fond smile on his face. “Sure, little brother. Nice chat. Takes me right back to the good old days.”

"Yeah," Crowley snorted, standing. Glancing up, he stares at Satan a moment, face unreadable. He turned and left. Once out the door he started walking faster. Faster. He was running.

Crowley ran back to Beelzebub's office. It was too late, he _knew_ he was too late. The damage was done. _Sam._ He had already walked away. But he couldn’t _stay._ Always the one to regret his actions _after._

Busting through the door, slamming it behind him he landed on his knees in front of them, blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, voice broken. "Sam."

Beelzebub hadn’t moved since he left, and had been fighting just to stay conscious because no matter how hard they tried, their body would _not take in a full breath._ They were drowning, this was it. They barely even noticed Raphs presence. _God if you’re going to take him just_ **take him already** _don't draw it out don’t fool me please-_

Understanding hit Crowley immediately. Reaching out, Crowley gently took their face in his hands, tilting it up to him, his face only inches away. Tears flowing freely down his face. "Breath, Sam, breath," he said softly, voice breaking slightly with emotion, "Just breath. Slowly. Deep breaths. In. Out. Sam, please. " He took a sharp breath himself as his voice wavers dangerously.

They whimpered when he touched them, instinctively trying to pull away from his grip, remembering **too tight hands that grabbed their face far too harshly for such a soft gesture, I had hoped it would be you-**

Recognizing the voice made them go still, and they shook their head as much as they could. _I can’t. I can’t._

Leaning forward, Crowley gently pressed his forehead against theirs. "Sam, listen to me, Sam," He was begging, he put one hand against their chest. "Breath out." He pressed against their chest, forcing the breath from them, slowly. Upon a full exhale he held it, three seconds. "Breath in." Slowly, Crowley raised his hand, letting them take in a full deep breath. "Hold it." Another count of three. He repeated the process.

Beelzebub forced themselves to breathe along with him, heart pounding in their chest. Their lungs were burning, but they couldn’t tell if that was from the little beastie or from their own stupid issues. _Weak._ They leaned against him a little, feeling the terror turn to numbness. “You- you _left.”_ They managed.

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered harshly, voice still ragged with emotion. He continued forcing them to breath slowly, rhythmically. "I'm so sorry, Sam." The demon was trembling again, only his hand on their chest steady. "I didn't know what to do. I. I-" He clicked his teeth shut as his body wrenched with the beginnings of a sob. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to force himself to breath.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to make you leave.” Their voice was soft and trembling. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I’ll be _better,_ I will, I’ll carry my own burden, _please don’t leave.”_

 _"Sam,"_ Crowley dropped his hand from their chest, wrapping his arms around them, pulling them tightly into his arms, "Oh Sam. You idiot." He was sobbing now, despite his best efforts. _"You_ didn't make me leave." His body shook with another sob. "I love you. You are the _best."_ He was rocking back and forth, clinging to them desperately.

"I'm here. I'm here for anything you need. Anything, _anything_ I can do." Another painful sob. His throat ached, his chest, his entire body felt tight and strained. "I will take every burden I can. _Anything,_ Sam."

Beelzebub didn’t sob. There wasn’t enough energy in them for that. They felt so empty. Someone had hit an off switch, and despite their best efforts they couldn't flip it back on again. They returned the embrace, trying to assure themselves that Raph didn’t _actually_ go, he’s still here, even if _you wish he weren’t sometimes, because you’re horrible and selfish._ “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be here. I’m sorry.” The words were mumbled as they tried to communicate just how _desperate_ they werr for him to understand.

"Shhhh," Crowley begged through his tears, he didn’t want to hear that. He _couldn’t_ hear that. "I _am_ here. You need me." Another sob. "I need _you._ Sam, I _need_ you." He grips them tighter. _"Please."_

“Don’t leave me alone here,” They begged. “I _do_ need you, this... this _thing_ is going to... and I don’t want to be _alone.”_ They grabbed him tightly, the familiar lifeline hold, although it almost didn’t feel as safe as it normally did.

"I won't," Crowley promised, "I promise, Sam. I won't. I'm here. No matter what, I'm here." He felt sick making the promise. It was not that he did not mean it--he did, with every fiber of his being. But he'd made the same promise before. And he had left anyway. There was no taking that back, no matter how badly he wanted to.

“I believe you.” The words were honest, and Beelzebub ignored whatever doubts their head wanted to interject with. “And.. and it’s the same for me, you know that right? I’m here for _you,_ too. Me being _weak_ won’t change that. I won’t let it.”

"You are _not_ weak!" Crowley shouted, voice hoarse, "You are _not!"_ He squeezed them tighter. "You're the strongest person I've ever seen."

“I-“ Beelzebub wanted to argue, but cut themself off. “I just want you to know that I can still be here for you, Raph, I need you to know that..”

"I know, Sam," he said softly, his sobs beginning to wind down--though more from exhaustion than lack of anguish, "I know."

“I can handle it...” They whispered, leaning against Raph further, trying both to hide from the world and protect their only friend from it. “I can handle it if you’re with me. I _can.”_

"Yes, you _can,"_ He reinforces, holding them as tightly as he can without physically hurting them, "And I'll be here. Always."

“I love you, Raphie...” They mumbled. Their body was ranging back to the bone-rattling exhaustion. _Don't leave. Please don’t leave._

"I love you, Sam," He whispered softly, kissing the top of their head. "Forever."

Beelzebub slumped against him fully, so tired their arms dropped from around his back and instead moved to grab the front of Crowley’s shirt.

"It's okay," he whispered softly, rubbing their back gently with one hand, still squeezing them tight with the other, "Go to sleep. I won't let you go. I won't leave. I've got you."

Beelzebub finally closed their eyes, buzzing a little as they instinctively fought sleep. As they finally slipped into slumber, there was a scratching sound from the floor near them. The medal (which, interestingly enough, hadn’t found its way back to Beelzebub yet. Little beastie wasn’t really a fan of how stressed out his host got when the thing placed itself back on their coat) scraped along the ground a bit, before apparently giving up and lying there. It wasn’t done, of course, but for the moment it left the lord of hell alone.

Continuing to gently rub their back as they drifted off. Humming softly, Crowley did not loosen his grip. Sitting there on the office floor, he held Sam as they slept. Guarded them. Locking the door with a twitch of a finger, he did the only thing he could. He was there.

Beelzebubs dreams were full of repressed memories, silky voices, and the inability to feel anything but a sick satisfaction as the world burned around them. It wasn’t a pleasant dream, but for once it couldn’t really be considered a _nightmare_ , either. Merely a dream of something completely and utterly ineffable.

It is much longer than usual before the Lord of Hell finally stirred. Little Beastie made their body crave sleep in a way it normally didn’t. The ache in their body had dulled again, though, reduced to a cold weight on their very bones- again, uncomfortable but not unbearable. They yawned, feeling the arms around them. “Raphie?” they managed tiredly,

“Hey, Sam,” Crowley said softly, stirring from his thoughts. He had not slept, it had been hours—he wasn’t sure how long. Hell was a difficult place to tell time—but it didn’t matter. 

He had done what he had intended. None had bothered The Lord of Hell. A good part of that was likely due to his reaction to Hastur. However, he had felt and heard more than one curious demon outside the door. A quick pulse of energy through the door had been enough to send them scurrying. 

“How you feeling?”

Beelzebub pulled away from the hug, yawning again. Their flies stirred and began circling them again. The medal was back on their chest but they paid it no mind. “Better.” They looked down on themselves, noticing that the bloodstains are gone, which was a small relief. “Feels calmer now, I suppose.”

“Good,” Crowley nodded, carefully, slowly, readjusting. The movements were stiff, slightly painful. Rolling his neck and shoulders, he kept an eye on his friend. 

“You should sleep more often,” He noted, flexing his fingers, arms stretched out before him. “You seem like you need it.”

Beelzebub frowned a bit. “I didn’t before... this had better not interfere with my work schedule.” They looked a little concerned for their friend. “Are _you_ feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” he responded, rolling forward onto his knees, then standing. “As long as you’re good, I’m good,” Crowley held out his hand to help them up.

They took his hand and let him pull them to their feet, rubbing their eyes. “Are you _sure?”_ They asked.

"Yeah," Crowley nodded, "I'm sure." And he was, more or less. In the hours that Beelzebub had slept, he had been thinking on everything. Well, thinking was not quite the right word. The demon had been compartmentalizing. Taking the parts that were painful, the things he could not change, and tucking them away. Wrapping them up in little mental boxes and burying them away in hidden closets.

Beelzebubs brain had pulled a similar move, but rather than spending several hours it managed a rush job in the span of their waking moments. More of bandaid on a stab wound than an actual bandage, but they could get around to that at a later time. For now, they nodded at their friend, some relief in their eyes at the mere fact that he was _here._ “Good...” They murmured, pushing a hand through their hair and trying to think of what they need to do today.

Nodding, Crowley continued to stretch, walking about the office some, working out his legs. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Beelzebub hummed. “I don’t have any meetings... but there is a _ridiculous_ amount of paperwork for me to sort through.” Their nose scrunched up. “Demons on the surface suddenly scrambling to send reports in late about some cult.”

Crowley's brows furrowed, eyeing the paperwork. "Not the same cult I was just looking into, is it?"

They shrugged helplessly as the papers (as if summoned by just thinking about them) piled up thick on their desk. “I’d have to read through it to see, I suppose. I have no idea why this was marked as urgent business- this is the sort of shit I have deskwork demons for.” They scowled darkly.

"Probably Hastur's doing," Crowley muttered, regretting not having lobbed the demon's head off when he had the chance. "Do you want some help...?" Paperwork was the last thing he wanted to do. Even worse, the demon was also rather terrible at it.

“We both know you’d incinerate the paperwork out of sheer frustration not even a half hour in.” Beelzebub shook their head fondly. “I can handle the paperwork. What I don’t want to read I can just send to the deskwork demons _anyway.”_ They wave a hand dismissively.

Wincing, Crowley nodded with a small, helpless shrug. It wasn't like he had ever set paperwork on fire on _purpose._ It was something that just tended to...happen. "Anything _else_ you need me to do?"

“Didn’t you need to talk to Dagon?” They raised an eyebrow. “If you want, I can handle the paperwork while you go talk to her.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley snapped his fingers at the memory. “I do need to speak with her. I’ll come back by after. If you need more for anything, just call.” Stepping forward, he gave them another quick hug. With that, he was gone.

Beelzebub returned the hug and waved him off with one hand, going to their desk and sitting down. They stared at the paperwork with a huff. “I don’t suppose you could help me with this?” They asked out loud, looking down at their stomach bitterly. The Little Beastie did not respond, and they raised their eyes to the sagging ceiling with a groan. _This is gonna be a long day._

Leaving the office of The Lord of Hell, Crowley made his way through the halls. Sauntering calmly, expression blank, he ‘reached’ out, feeling for Dagon. She was not hard to find, and not terribly far away, in her own office. Thankful for this, as he really was not yet prepared to deal with the other demons--and the repercussions of his actions— he took a somewhat longer route than necessary to avoid as many chance encounters as possible.

Upon reaching the office, the door was open. With no one inside beyond the Lord of Files herself, Crowley simply walked in, gently closing the door behind him. "Hello, Dagon."

Dagon was also doing paperwork. Well, less filling it out and more sorting it into different piles so she could put them away later. Hell didn’t call her the Lord of the Files for nothing (although that nickname wasn’t _actually_ a compliment, she chose to take it as one anyway). Her organization skills were her pride and joy, although right now they were admittedly rushed. She figured her best bet of winning back the favor of Lord Beelzebub and Crowley would be to get some actual work done. 

When Crowley walked into her office, she instinctively bared her teeth at the intruder, only to immediately wince when she saw who it was. “Uh- Crowley!” She yelped. “Hello!” A nervous grin overtook her face.

Looking over the paperwork on her desk, Crowley winced. There was, in fact, a rather large stack of paperwork on his own desk. Not that there was a great deal he had to do, but he let it build up. It had been a quick, structure readjustment in Hell after he was given his office. His inability to properly do what was necessary had caused more trouble than anything--no one wanted to deal with it. He was now left with the bare minimum that could not be delegated to someone else.

Leaning one hip on the back of a chair, the demon found himself at a loss for words. Certainly he knew what his intentions were for this encounter. However, simply _saying_ what he meant bluntly was just very....undemonlike. 

"You came by Lord Beelzebub's office, earlier," He paused, "Yesterday?" He wasn't sure how much time had passed. "Whenever."

Dagon winced and snatched a pencil off the desk, chewing on it slightly. “Uh.. right...” She shifted. “My apologies, Crowley, for interrupting... whatever it was you were doing.”

Waving his hand, Crowley shook his head. “The only thing you interrupted was me barely reining in from finally killing the toad Hastur,” He explained, offering them a grimace. Dagon was well aware of how much the duke antagonized him. It was one of the main topics of their conversations. 

“That was....never meant for you.” It was not quite an apology. For him, in his position, to openly apologize to her would be...unseemly. He hoped, however, that the implications were understood.

Dagon seemed to relax a little at the unsaid apology. “Shame you didn’t kill him, then.” She scoffed, having already snapped her pencil in half (although whether she had noticed that yet was up in the air). “Gotten him out of my hair, with all the talking he’s been doing.”

A mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, I really should have taken the chance while I had it,” Crowley agreed, noticing the pencil. A flick of his finger and it was whole again. 

Brows furrowing, though he was not quite frowning, the demon cocked his head at her. “What kind of talking?” He figured some of it was about what had happened, but the way she said it made him think there was more.

Dagon internally winced a little, realizing that she’d gone off at the mouth again. “You know how Hastur is,” She said dismissively. “Always running his mouth.”

"Dagon," Crowley gave her a look, "I'm not one to shoot the messenger." He did his best to appear unintimidating, which was rather ironic, all things considered. Under normal circumstances, demons would _laugh_ at the idea of him ever being intimidating. There was, however, in the last few days, that this impression had changed drastically.

She sighed and shuffled through some papers. “Hastur is... uncertain of Lord Beelzebubs ability to rule while...” She winced once more, not wanting to use the words he used. “...while _expecting._ And he’s unsure of your ability to do your job properly when you’re...” _Jealous?_ No, she couldn’t say that.

Moving to sit in the chair opposite Dagon, sitting almost sideways in the chair, Crowley propped his feet up on the edge of her desk. Out of the way, but likely still unwanted, he didn’t seem to notice. “I see.” He did not question what she didn’t say, he had no intention of being so unnecessarily cruel to her. 

“And, by your estimation, how is this being taken?” Crowley focused on the demon once more.

Dagon shrugged. “Nobody’s really taking him seriously. He’s bluffing; it’s pretty painfully obvious. Not even Ligur is on board with this one. Besides, Lord Beelzebub has proven that they are more than capable of squashing any rebellion.” She shivered. “It would be hard to get a few demons to muster up the courage to challenge them normally, but with their aura like _that...”_

“Mmm,” Crowley nodded, glad to hear it. Still, with a voice like that whispering in every ear, it would only take one fumble. One misstep. “That won’t last..” He muses out loud. A rare thing for him, speaking his thoughts in front of anyone but Sam. In this, however, he knew Dagon is not a threat. She did not want the job of Lord of Hell. She already knew that any of the other princes on the throne would be a disaster. 

“If Hastur bothers you,” Crowley pulled his legs down, sitting up straight, “About anything, really, send him my way.” He gave a dangerous smile. 

Standing up he headed for the door. “Let me know if anyone seems like they might be swaying,” he called over his shoulder.

“Will do!” Dagon chirped, honestly feeling rather pleased with herself, before yelping a little. “Wait, Crowley, I have a question!”

Stopping just as he was opening the door, the demon turned his head, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

Dagon shifted in her chair, trying not to look nervous. “How long should I avoid the Counsel for?” The question was really: _How long is Beelzebub going to be pissed at me/How pissed are they actually,_ but Dagon didn’t exactly want to say that.

Crowley offered her a small smile. "No need to avoid it at all." _No one is mad at you._ He offered a two fingered wave, and left the office, closing the door behind him. It had been open when he arrived, but he figured she would likely appreciate some privacy for a while. That was a lot of paperwork.

Dagon grinned to herself for a moment, before catching sight of all the paperwork and pouting. This would take _forever._ “Fucks sake.” She hissed.

Meanwhile, Beelzebub had abandoned their office and the huge stack of paperwork for the moment, leaving a note on their desk for Raph that said something along the lines of: _going topside to talk to bitchasses about the cults, be back soon, don’t touch my paperwork._ None of this was a lie, persay... except it totally was a fucking lie. Beelzebub was about to do the thing they hated most... talking to the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. 

Once on earth, they brushed the dirt off of their coat and sneered at their surroundings. Little Beastie got restless being on the plane that will one day be their kingdom, and they hissed at him. _Calm the fuck down and be patient, you little shit. You’ve still got 11 or so years._ They huffed and waited impatiently. They had already sent a memo for Gabriel to meet them here, and certainly Gabriel could feel their presence. They silently swear to themselves that if he pissed them off today, they would, in fact, knee him in the groin. The antichrist was one hell of a thing to grow in one’s body, and Satan forbid they put up with Gabriel’s shit too.

Gabriel appeared a few feet away in a flash of lightning and immediately started to stride towards them.

"Alright, what is this about? We weren't supposed to have another meeting until-- woah, you seem _different."_ He reeled back to stare at them. _"What_ is _that?_ What happened?" He looked them up and down, trying to discern why their aura had changed so drastically.

Seeing Gabriel was, as usual, sort of a punch in the gut, but Beelzebub hid it with a vicious glare. “Archangel Gabriel.” They sneered coldly, looking him up and down and taking note of his appearance. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

"Apparently in stark contrast to you," he said, his eyes wide. He thought he might have pinpointed the source of the aura to somewhere around their middle, but he couldn’t quite tell what it is. "Beelzebub what... what happened to you?"

They snarled at him, metaphorical hackles raising. “It’s what I came to talk to you about.” It actually _wasn't_ what they came to talk to him about, but they needed something important enough to call a meeting for, and Gabriel wouldn’t buy that Aziraphale was enough of a cause.

"Are you..." He stepped cautiously closer, studying them. "Are you okay?"

“Don’t pretend like you care, _Archangel.”_ The words escaped Beelzebub’s mouth before they could stop them, and it took all of their self control not to wince. They composed themselves lightning quick. “Armageddon will be upon us within the next decade.” They said coldly, and they adjusted their new medal, which glinted harshly.

Gabriel frowned. He _does_ care, actually. He was an angel. He loved everything, and that included the small demon prince in front of him. Besides, he had always felt they had a camaraderie of sorts. "Yes? What about it?"

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. Clearly, they hadn’t been clear enough. Angels couldn’t sense the Satanic aura the same way demons could, so Gabriel wouldn’t just... know. “Gabriel. I’m...” Despite their best efforts, they hesitated, face twisting into an unreadable expression before going back to cold neutrality, taking a deep breath. “I’m carrying the Antichrist.” At the name, their aura pulsed a little, the Little Beastie vaguely happy to be the center of attention once again.

Gabriel blinked once before staring at them, his eyes wide. _"Oh."_

He stepped closer still, now looking at them like they're special, someone to be taken care of. "That's, I mean... Is there anything I can do? You know, to help?"

A shudder ran through them and they took a step back. “For fucks sake, don’t look at me like that!” They hissed. “Just because I’m... like _this,_ doesn’t mean I can’t still wipe the floor with your scarf-wearing ass.” They crossed their arms over their stomach defensively. “Besides, What could _you_ possibly do to help me? Oh, please, Archangel Gabriel, bless this baby.” Their voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I..." Gabriels expression turned into what more or less makes him look like a kicked puppy. "Well... just know that if you ever need anything, I..." He sighed, feeling frustrated. He wanted to help them through this difficult and life-altering experience, but Beelzebub was right. What could he possibly do?

Beelzebubs expression also nearly fell at Gabriel’s kicked-puppy pout. “I’m _fine,_ Gabriel. This is my duty to the Great Plan. It’s written, remember?”

Gabriel nodded solemnly. He knew that they wouldn't be able to keep the child. He knew they were just doing their duty, regardless of emotional cost. He felt for them, more than he ever has in memory. He recalled the time he informed Mary of her pregnancy.

"You know... I could actually bless the baby," he said, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

This did get a snicker from the normally cold demon and they shook their head a bit. “I don’t know how he’d like that.”

“I would imagine that God’s grace can be comforting to all sorts of beings, even demons. So perhaps the antichrist won’t mind it very much.” He shrugged, a small smirk playing at his face. “I could try it.”

Turns out Little Beastie didn’t much like the sound of that, because a sharp pain ran through their stomach and Beelzebub bit back a hiss. _Oh, you don’t like that?_ They snapped internally at him. _Well, fuck you. Im in charge, you stupid demonic fetus._ “Go ahead.”

Gabriel’s face lit up in excitement. “It will be easier if we sit down.” He gestured to a nearby bench.

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow and sat down, glaring suspiciously at the archangel. “I will fuck you up if this is some sort of trick.”

Gabriel merely chuckled and sat down next to them, very close. He leaned over to put a hand across their stomach, but he hesitated before actually touching them. “Is this okay?”

They stared at his hand. “Do you _have_ to touch me?”

“Please?” He looked at them with wide, pleading eyes.

“Aren’t angels supposed to avoid touching demons?”

“I don’t think we often have a reason to touch demons.” He shrugged. Maybe he’s not technically supposed to but he hardly cared at the moment.

“...is there no way to avoid touching me to do this?”

“Not really, no.” Gabriel gave them an apologetic look.

Beelzebub sighed and gave him a nasty glare. “Fine. But I mean it, if this ends up being some sort of trick, I will rip your wings off.”

"I would never trick you, Beelzebub." He placed a hand on their stomach and closed his eyes. He was _very_ close. He closed his eyes, and light started to spread around him. He isn't speaking, rather saying his prayer and giving his blessing with pure emotion instead of words. Light emanated from his hand, pouring the blessing into the unborn child.

He didn’t make it all the way before white hot pain lanced through their body and Beelzebub instinctively decked him across the face as hard as they could (which was pretty damn hard). Hissing, they double over.

Gabriel yelped and flew backwards, landing in an undignified heap a few feet away. He jerked his head up to look at them as he scrambled to his feet. "Are you okay??"

Beelzebub snarled at him, wrapping their arms tight around themselves.

Gabriel grimaced. "I'm assuming the antichrist didn't like that?"

Interestingly enough, it wasn’t the antichrist that didn’t like it. The antichrist didn’t really care as of yet. Beelzebubs body, which the antichrist currently inhabited, was the thing that really didn’t appreciate the holy blessing. They pulled up their shirt slightly to see two burn marks where Gabriel’s hands were, and they hissed angrily.

Gabriel's face fell more, if possible. He really didn't mean to hurt them. "I'm sorry, I--" He started towards them, his first instinct being to heal them, but he stopped, not wanting to make things worse.

“It’s... it’s fine.” They snapped, pulling their shirt down roughly. “I should have known. It’s fine.”

"I'm sorry, Beelzebub. I didn't mean..." He chewed the inside of his lip, unsure of what to do now.

“I said it’s fine.” They crossed their arms and stared at him. “Listen. Do you _actually_ want to help me?”

Gabriel nodded, feeling guilty for hurting them.

“Besides _this,”_ They motioned to their body, “I have a situation here on earth. There are a bunch of demonic cults sprouting up in Soho without authorization now. The paperwork is a nightmare. There was a principality in Soho who kept them at bay with his very presence. What happened there?”

Gabriel racked his brain to try and think of the name of the angel he had stationed in Soho. "Uhhhhhhaaaaziraphale? Oh, I called him back up to Heaven to prepare for Armageddon."

Beelzebub sighed and facepalmed. “Listen, Gabriel, I know this is going to sound weird. But it is going to be...” They hesitated. This would be admitting weakness to the _enemy._ They shook it off. _Youre doing this for Raph._ “It is going to be a lot more difficult for me to keep up with all of the things there are to do around hell with _him_ on the way. Aziraphale or whatever was a common enemy for my demons to rally against so they didn’t focus on what was going on around them, but without a distraction they could rally against _me._ I’m not saying they’d succeed, but if they did... trust me when I say that you do _not_ want any of my siblings in power.”

Gabriel grimaced. "Yes, I think I much prefer you. So what do you want me to do? Reinstate Aziraphale?"

Beelzebub waved a hand. “That would be preferable than listening to these bitchy, whiny demons go on and on about unsanctioned cult activity. Aziraphale was good at being a _distraction,_ at the very least.”

Gabriel leveled a soft smile at them. "If it would make your life easier during this time, then yes, of course. I'm glad I can be of some help."

They nodded, not saying a thank you out loud because _fuck Gabriel if he thinks he’s getting a thank you._ “Whatever. Don’t think this changes anything, asshole.“ They glared at him. “Hell is still going to win the War.”

Gabriel smirked. "Highly doubtful. Our troops are actually organized."

Beelzebub bared their teeth at him, not dignifying him with a response.

Gabriel simply wore his signature self-righteous grin. "Anything else you wanted to discuss?"

“No.” Beelzebub looked up at him coldly. “Just see to it that you actually do as you said you would.”

Gabriel fixed them with a serious, compassionate look. "Alright, but please let me know if there's anything else I can do to help."

 _Why do you suddenly want to help?_ They held the words back in favor of a slight sneer. “Oh, I will.” They scratched at their newly burnt flesh absentmindedly.

He nodded and stepped back. "I wish you the best of luck, Beelzebub.” And with a pop like the sound of a bubble, he was gone.

Beelzebub glared at the spot where Gabriel was, fighting off a tidal wave of emotions. Sighing, they decided to wait in Soho until Aziraphale’s bookshop was back. Then, they’d go give Crowley the good news.

It was about an hour later that the bookshop miraculously appeared again. They watched a flustered Aziraphale surveying his things. At one point, he noticed them and went pale, and it was at that point they sank into the ground, returning to Hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unborn Antichrist has been blessed by an Archangel, and Crowley has worked things out with Dagon. Things seem to be going well....

Chapter 4

Upon finishing with Dagon, Crowley had returned to Beelzebub’s office. Seeing the note there, he had flipped it over and left his own. Simply stating he would be in his office when they returned.

There he sat when they returned to Hell. So absorbed, and frustrated with the paperwork there, he did not even notice. Nearly pulling his hair out with one hand, he had already had to miracle his pen back together multiple times.

Beelzebub knocked once on the door of the office as a mere habit, knowing that Crowley could (normally) sense their aura approaching from miles away, before walking in and miracling the door shut behind them. They raised an eyebrow at the paperwork and the clearly abused pen. “Enjoying yourself?”

Head snapping up at the knock, for a half a second Crowley had no idea who was there. Internally cursing himself for getting so thoroughly distracted, he relaxed as the door began to open, recognizing Sam's aura. Fingers still in his hair, he leaned back in the chair, wincing slightly at stiff muscles.

_"So much,"_ The demon bared his teeth at them in a 'smile.' Dropping the pen, he rubbed his hands over his face with a groan. "How did your meeting go?"

Beelzebub looked at him for a moment, considering what they should tell him. “It went well.” They said softly. “I talked to Gabriel.” They rubbed a hand over their stomach and sighed. “He knows now, of course...”

Wincing behind his hands, Crowley nodded, lowering his hands to his desk, looking up at them. "I imagine that went well." He didn't want to talk about Gabriel. Sam swung wildly between wanting desperately to, and never wanting to speak the name. He understood. It didn't make it any easier.

“The cults are popping up because of the lack of angelic activity in Soho,” They said (which wasn't _completely_ a lie. Only mostly), adjusting their coat. “I told him to do me a favor to lessen the amount of paperwork on everyone’s plates.”

Brows furrowing slowly, Crowley leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. "And how, exactly, did he decide to do that?" He kept his voice neutral. He didn't hope, he didn't _dare_ hope--however, he could not entirely banish the possibility from his mind.

“I told him to reinstate Aziraphale.” Beelzebub looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “He’s back in Soho, Raph.”

Taking a deep breath, the demon nodded, slowly. "I see." Clearing his throat, he leaned back enough to look at the paperwork on his desk once more. "Right, good. Glad to hear it." The demon began filling out his paperwork once more. After less than a minute he paused.

"Thank you, Sam." Crowley spoke in nearly a whisper, voice hoarse with emotion, before he continued with his work, as if nothing had been said at all.

“Of course...” Beelzebub tried not to focus on the slight sting in their chest at the thought of Aziraphale, and focused instead on the fact that this was to make Raph happy, which was the important thing.

"How are you holding up?" Crowley asked, sliding a sheet into the very _small_ pile of completed things, eyes flicking up to them before down to the next page. "Anything I can do?"

They sat down next to him and pulled some of the paperwork next to them, glancing over the paperwork. “I’m feeling adequate... better than usual, actually.” They frowned. “I guess the blessing really _did_ do something...”

"Blessing?" Crowley's attention was immediately captured, pen frozen mid-word, eyes on Beelzebub, eyebrows nearly at his hairline.

Beelzebub winced and rubbed their recently burned skin. “Ah...yes. He asked if there was anything he could do to help.” They didn’t say who _he_ was, but they knew Crowley knew anyway. “I got pissed and said all he could do was bless the baby. He took me seriously.”

Impossible though it seemed, Crowley's brows rose even further. A small laugh escaped him. "You had.... an… Archangel.... Bless.... The.... _Antichrist...."_ For a few seconds he stared at them. Then erupted in laughter.

They threw their hands in the air. “I didn’t know what else to do! He seemed so upset he couldn’t help in any other way. I figured- why the hell not?”

Attempting to calm his laughter, Crowley waved his hand in a vaguely calming gesture. "No, no, no," He grinned through the laughter, "It's _brilliant!"_

“What pisses me off...” They started to snicker. “...is that it might have actually _worked.”_ They motioned to their stomach. “He’s calmer than he’s ever been. What the fuck? I thought he would explode or something.”

Calming his laughter a little more, Crowley cocked his head. In the less-than-dignified-but-necessary manner that he had, the demon clambered over his desk, perching on the end where Sam was. Reaching out, he gently placed a hand on their stomach--as he had done several times now. His mouth fell open, eyebrows shooting back up. "By the power of Gray Skull...."

“Raph!” Beelzebub yelped, and they placed their hands over his. “What is _that?”_

"I think it _did_ work," Crowley responded, not entirely sure what his friend is so upset about, "He definitely feels… _different."_

“Yeah, but wait- What is Gray Skull?” They seemed confused. “You said by the power of gray skull- what does that mean?”

"Oh, that," Crowley chuckled, pulling his hand away, "It's an Earth thing. A fiction show on the telly."

“Ah. I thought you were trying to undo the blessing.” They looked down on their stomach with a pained hiss. “I’ll never let him do that again though. Hurt like hell.” They smirked. “I punched him in the face for it.”

Again, Crowley threw back his head, laughing. "Oh! I wish I'd seen that!"

“Cathartic experience, honestly.”

"I can only imagine," He nudged his friend, "Good on you."

“Got what I wanted anyway, though.” Beelzebub smirked again, but it’s a little sadder this time. “Gabriel compares me to the next Mother Mary.”

Wincing, Crowley's laughter ceased. "That idiot," he muttered, looking away, "Hardly a fair comparison."

“I suppose not... I never really met her.” They didn’t look up at him. “At least I won’t have to keep this one.”

"Yeah..." Crowley trailed off, not so sure if that was _actually_ a good thing or not. He knew nothing about having children, but he had witnessed a great deal of parents on Earth.

“Did _you_ meet her?” They already knew he met the son of God himself, after all, it had been under their orders that he had attempted to tempt the young Jesus into sinning. But the mother of Christ was an entirely different story.

“Yeah,” Crowley mused, head lifting, eyes unfocused, “When she was in labor. I was sent to make sure they didn’t get a room anywhere.” A small sigh. _“He_ never said that meant they couldn’t have a roof.” Shaking his head, he looked back down to the paperwork. “Couldn’t let her give birth in a gutter.”

Beelzebub looked around their surroundings, gently putting their arms around their stomach. “That would have been needlessly cruel.” They murmur. They had certainly seen the Mother Mary, but that had been directly after the crucifixion. They remembered watching her as she tore at her clothes and screamed with grief from losing her only child. They remembered the mixture of pity and sick satisfaction they felt as they looked towards the Heavens. _Look at what you’ve done to your champions, my Lord. Are you happy to have hurt one of your own this way?_

“Yeah...” Crowley sighed, no longer seeing the paperwork in front of him. “There was plenty of that to go around then, wasn’t there?” He was supposed to be the evil one. Tempting Jesus in the desert—showing him the kingdoms of the world. But he had not been the one to torture the man, to hang him up to die. Their side hadn’t done that. _The Great Plan.Great Plan,_ there was just God doing whatever She felt like, and not telling anyone. Just laughing behind Her hand at the ants scrabbling about the hills.

“Yes.” There was a note of bitterness in Beelzebub's voice. “Some _mighty_ son of God. His followers abandoned him the moment he got himself into a shred of trouble.”

“Did we even play a part in that?” Crowley looked up, frowning, “I know _I_ didn’t.” Usually, in such large Earth temptations, he was involved. Had been from the beginning.

“Not a direct part.” Their gaze was far away as they continued to hug their stomach. “We did speak to Judas, though. All of the princes. But that wasn’t until he had already made his decision.” Their grip tightened on their shirt. “He hung himself soon after.”

Crowley winced. “I see.” He could only imagine what the princes had said to the man. All of them, talking to one man—he couldn’t imagine the level of power they had over a simple human. Even if none of them were exceptionally imaginative—even Sam. For all that he loved them, they were only marginally more creative than the other demons of Hell. Still, raw power made up for a great deal. 

“Humans picked the wrong centuries to call ‘The Dark Ages’,” the demon mused quietly to himself. Not that the 14th century had anything redeemable about it—but darker things had certainly happened.

“Is there any age that _doesn't_ fit the Dark Age quota?” Beelzebub waved a hand dismissively. “Humanity can’t go a week without messing everything up. They don’t even really need us to sow havoc up there. And Heaven has never been of any help. It’s all a bunch of bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is,” Crowley agreed, leaning back in his chair, “And yet...” Again, his eyes looked far off. 

“The things humanity has done...Not all bad, not all good. Mostly amazing, in one way or another.” The demon spoke fondly, a ghostly smile pulling at his lips.

The Lord of Hell stared at him for a moment. “You've always had a soft spot for humans... why?”

Blinking once, he looked to Beelzebub. A slight frown creased his face. “I don’t know,” Crowley considered, tapping his pen idly on the desk, “They’re just so....creative. So independent. So much potential. They could do _anything._ There’s no real restrictions. And sure, they’ve done some terrible things, but look at the overall? Look what they’ve done? They’ve built something incredible. Done things angels and demons could have never dreamed of.”

_They have free will. God's little chosen ones._ Beelzebub don didn't meet their friends eyes, trying, once again, to understand their friends odd fascination with humanity. “So the fact that they can get away with going against God's will when we couldn’t doesn’t bother you at all?”

Frowning, Crowley shifted in his seat. “They were punished,” He said, voice odd, “Maybe even worse. We were thrown from Heaven for what _we_ did. Their ancestors were in Eden. They were thrown out for going against God. Now, countless generations later never even know what Eden is, born into pain and desolation, for what their ancient ancestors did.”

The demon shifted in his seat again. “Didn’t even seem like such a bad thing, either. Knowing the difference between good and evil.”

“No. But She has never been a merciful God.” The demon of gluttony's voice was full of bitterness now. “She doesn’t _really_ care about them, or us, or even the remaining angels. Only about the little card game she’s playing with the universe.”

“Yeah,” Crowley’s voice was quiet, almost sorrowful, “It seems that way...”

Even quieter, almost to himself, “But maybe...maybe there _is_ a reason...”

Beelzebub leaned forward, raising an eyebrow, trying not to seem as bitter as they feel. “What reason would a benevolent creator have for all of this?” They waved their hand at everything.

“Benevolent? Maybe not,” Crowley shrugged, “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a plan. In the long run. Longer than we can see.”

“Well of course there’s a plan.” They rolled their eyes despite themselves. “It’s coming to a close soon, isn’t it? The end of the world in a little over a decade. There shall be a world, and after 6000 years it shall end in fire and flame.”

“Yeah, right,” Crowley agreed softly. With a sigh, he returned to his paperwork. There really wasn’t a reason to continue the discussion.

Beelzebub felt a little guilty for not being able to understand, but the fact of the matter was that the Great Plan was unchangeable. Sooner or later Crowley would have to wake up to the reality of everything. In the meantime, it didn’t matter. They’d push on anyway. They shifted some of the paperwork over to them and sorted through it, silently taking care of what they could.

Glancing at Beelzebub, Crowley considered stopping them. Telling them they had plenty of their own paperwork, he could manage on his own. The truth was, however, that he had already met his limit. Without help, it was likely there would be nothing but ash on his desk within the hour. 

“Thanks.”

“I owed you one for getting Hastur out of my hair.” Beelzebub waved a hand dismissively. “How’d your talk with Dagon go, by the way?”

“Good,” Crowley nodded, “I think she was pretty stressed. Let her know she was good with both of us.” He considered telling them what Hastur had been saying, but decided better of it. They had enough on their plate. 

“Get any of _your_ paperwork done before dealing with the _mighty Archangel?”_

Beelzebub winced. “...Would you believe me if I said I got a lot done?”

Crowley tried to keep the smirk from his face. “Suuuuure.”

“Oh, honestly.” They pouted, scribbling something on a paper. “I’m the lord of hell. Paperwork should _not_ be my job anyway.”

“You could get a secretary,” Crowley offered, helpfully, “Or a PA. A little demon flunky to follow you around and do all your menial chores.” Only after he said the words did he realize that this description, more or less, fit _him._ Crowley frowned.

Beelzebub let out a low hiss and eyed him. ”A little demon flunky?” They snorted. “Where would I _ever_ find one of those?”

“Shut-up,” Crowley growled, pointedly not looking at the Lord of Hell, scribbling furiously at the paper before him.

“I’m teasing, Raph.” They flicked one of the more useless papers at his head. “Of course you’re not a _flunky._ You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Of course not,” Crowley responded, perhaps too quickly, snatching the paper out of the air. “I hardly think you would help me with paperwork if I were just a flunky.” It was true. He meant it. And yet...They were _The Lord of Hell_ and he was just...a leftover friend from another life, who had been elevated above his position to. Maybe not a flunky, more like a hanger-on. A coattail rider.

“Good. Cuz you’re not.” Beelzebub flicked another paper at him. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, Raph. I probably would have lost my shit ages ago.”

“You _did_ lose your shit ages ago,” Crowley retorted, snatching the paper, “I’m actually just a vivid hallucination.”

They gasped a little (their version of an over dramatic flop to the floor Crowley-Style). “Well, if you’re not _real…_ then I guess I shouldn’t be helping you with your paperwork. Which means, my fake best friend, you’ll have to do it all on your own. How unfortunate.”

Shooting them a glare, Crowley bit down a grin. “What you don’t realize, is that, since I’m imaginary, all of this is actually your paperwork,” He smirked despite himself, “You’re just _imagining_ it as mine to help you cope.”

Beelzebub huffed, rolling their eyes fondly. “Can I imagine that the rest of my paperwork is yours as well? I certainly don’t want to fucking deal with it.”

“You _could,“_ Crowley mused, “And as a part of your deranged psyche, I would certainly _try_ to finish it appropriately. However, all of your unrealized frustration will likely vent from my illusory being into your very real paperwork.”

Beelzebub placed their hand over their heart dramatically, retaining a completely emotionless expression. ”My mind has betrayed me once again.”

Grinning at them, Crowley signed off on the last paper and set it in the ‘finished’ stack. “And here I’m amazed you have a mind at all.”

“Brutal.” They shook a fist at him. “Shame on you, abusing your creator this way. Keep this up and I’ll make a new imaginary friend to replace you. Maybe this one will be better at paperwork, you lazy fuck.”

“Oh, my deepest fear,” Crowley put a hand to his chest, dramatically sinking into his chair, “Your anger at me is dissipating my existence!” He continued to slide, liquid-like to the floor. 

“What a world! What a world!”

Beelzebub gasped again. “Oh noooo. What am I going to do without my best friend? Maybe I’ll actually be able to get paperwork done on time?! The horror!”

“Aaahhhhh,” Crowley finished off in dramatic death sounds, one arm grasping at the air, before falling to his body, awkwardly puddled beneath his desk.

They laughed despite themselves, fiddling with the medal on their chest. “You’re so dumb.”

“Yeah, I kn-Ow!” Crowley cried, banging his head as he attempted to clamber out from under his claustrophobic desk.

Beelzebub winced. “Ouch. Good thing the pain is imaginary.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roughly four months had passed since the 'creation' of the antichrist. Things had not gotten better. If possible, Hell had actually managed to get _worse._ With each passing day Beelzebub became more snappish and distant. Crowley was doing her very best to be patient--she understood that Sam was going through something incredibly difficult. Something that she could not understand, but that did not make it hurt less. Never, in all of her existence, had she felt so alone. Even directly after the fall, it had always been her and Sam. Through everything. Now, it just felt like her. And Sam. 

For a time after the incident with Hastur, the demons of hell had left Crowley alone. It had been a blessing she had not fully appreciated at the time. Certainly they took her somewhat more seriously now--seemed to believe her to possibly be capable of upholding her 'guard dog' status--but that was it. It simply meant she was never insulted by a single demon. Now they were in packs. And for the first time ever, she had no one to talk to about it. Crowley was so _alone._

Sauntering down a rather empty seeming hallway, she kept her head up. There were knots of demons spaced out through her path. She could feel them--there was no avoiding them. Lately, she had taken to wearing her sword on her back, not trusting that she could pull it up quickly enough were she to need it. Heels clicking beneath her, for once, even that failed to give her comfort. Crowley truly was walking through the valley of the shadow of death--but she had all the evil to fear.

There was a sinister hissing from down the hallway as the snake demon approached. Although she knew they were there, what she _didn't_ know was that they had been waiting for her. You see, the past few months had been rough for demons not in Lord Beelzebubs favor, which as of recently appeared to be no one, with the exception of Crowley. The demons of Hell didn’t appreciate favoritism, but they couldn’t exactly take it out on the Lord of Hell themselves... so they’d settle for kicking their guard dog, instead. And judging by the way even Beelzebubs patience seemed to be dwindling for the snake-eyed demon... they might even be able to get away with it. The hissing got louder as they wait for her to pass.

Clenching her teeth, Crowley kept her pace steady. Her hand was _itching_ to grip her sword, but she didn't dare. To show fear is to show weakness. In Hell, to show weakness was to die. Perhaps not immediately, but in the end. In her _unique_ position, it would be a very quick, very long fall. Perhaps even farther than the first one. So no, the snake-eyed demon kept her hands at her sides, her chin up, eyes forward. _So alone._

Once she passed by a dark passageway (hell wasn’t exactly known for its creativity, as I’m sure you can imagine), she would inevitably find herself being grabbed by at least four pairs of hands as a group of demons dragged her into the poorly-lit hallway. Hands scrambled for her sword, pulling it away from her and throwing it out of reach, willing it to be stuck firmly in place. She was thrown rather unceremoniously to the floor, back against the wall.

Fighting the best she could, Crowley hissed and thrashed, gnashing teeth. More than one demon got kicked, bit, and scratched, but it did not matter. She was outnumbered and overpowered. Hitting the floor, sliding into the wall, she hissed, curling up tightly at the impact. 

As soon as her momentum stopped she was up in a crouch, glaring upwards. Hand flexing, despite the fact she knew her sword would not come. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Crowley knew she should have had her sword in hand. Showing fear be damned, she had known something like this was going to happen. 

Hissing, she bared her teeth at the attackers. She wanted to do something, to do more. But her imagination seemed to be running thin lately. Everything seemed so narrow, so alone, so pointless. Her creativity, the one _true_ power she had ever had, was dwindling away. Slipping between her fingers. Out of reach here, now, when she needed it most. So, she fell back on the one other thing she had.

"And what do _you_ lot want, eh? Feel like playing a quick game of Red Rover?" She hissed, "Send ugly on over?"

“Hello, Crowley.” The words came from someone who, at first glance, looked like a normal brown-haired teenager. Those who looked a little closer would see the blood red pits she had for eyes, and the constant stream of blood red tears that stained her near permanent smile. And that wasn’t even mentioning the four horns. _Deumos_ continued to smile sweetly at Crowley. 

The black haired demon next to her, Verin, snarled viciously at the snake eyed demon, revealing far too many needle-point teeth in a mouth far too wide. The Twin Marquis demons of hell, Ronove and Ronwe, stared unblinkingly at Crowley with pitch black eyes far too big for their blond heads.

Eyes flitting between four demons stand over her, Crowley's mind racing. Searching. There had to be a way out of this, something that she could do. If she could just keep them talking long enough, she could figure it out. "Hello _Deumos,"_ She responded, flashing a 'smile' at the demon, "I see you brought the whole Ringling Brothers with you."

She adjusted her stance slightly, giving herself slightly more room to work with, staying low. "Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dumb, and the Cheshire cat. How cute."

Verin roared and began opening his mouth to try to speak, but only gargled gibberish came out. Black sludge spilled from his lips in place of words, which only seemed to piss the demon off more. Without taking her eyes off of Crowley, Deumos patted his arm lightly. “Easy, Verin.” She cooed. “No need to get so upset. Little puppy is all bark and no bite.” The Twins vaguely repeated words that she was saying, but they overlapped too much to really make any sense.

Nose scrunching at the slime, Crowley made a disgusted sound, sneering at the demon. "Oh please, Deumos, keep your Exorcism freaks in check." Her eyes flicked to the twins, but stayed mostly on Deumos. "Stupid is probably contagious." These were demons she did not know that well. She knew their names, and knew Deumos to _some_ degree. That was it. The twins were a hive mind--beyond that she was unaware. It seemed they were not too bright, but that likely meant they were muscle. Trying to get past them was a fifty-fifty shot.

Who was she kidding? Even odds were far too generous. Crowley was right fucked, and she knew it. However, giving in was not something she was accustomed to. "So what brings you lot out of the sludge troughs long enough to _grace_ me with your presence?"

The brown haired demon laughed, throwing her hair over her shoulder and wiping some of the blood out of her eyes. “We just wanted to offer our condolences, Crowley. No need for insults.”

"Weell," Crowley drawled, mind racing and getting nowhere, "If I wasn't forced to smell you lot, none would be necessary." With no other ideas forthcoming, she continued attempting to pull her sword. It was so frustrating. So _wrong._ Pathetic demons like this should not have the willpower to keep it from her. The Dark Lord himself, perhaps Sam--but that was it. Yet, she could not will it to her, no matter how hard she focused.

“What’s wrong? Can’t you take your sword back?” There was definite amusement in Deumos’ voice now. “I guess now that you don’t have your special lord of hell protecting you, you’re finding things a tad more difficult.” She tilted her head, and the Twins seemingly disappeared into the shadows. “Poor little snake. Has it finally hit you yet?”

Letting the agitation get to her, despite her attempts not to, Crowley growled, shifting in her crouch again. "What the Heaven are you talking about?" She snapped. Her heart beat a little faster.

Deumos laughed, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. “Well... Lord Beelzebub has finally finished with you, Crowley! And may I say- they’ve done an excellent job! Haven’t they, Verin?” Verin let out a low chuckle that sounds more like a snarl.

The words hit a little too close to home. Crowley flashed her teeth again. Of course, she knew they just saw her as Sam's dog. But she knows better. At least, she thought she did. She was still sure. Mostly. It was just the pregnancy. Their bond had survived worse. It had survived the _Fall_ for Satan's sake. "You have no idea what you're talking about," She hissed, uncertainty clawing at her heart in the most painful way.

Deumos put a hand on her cheek, as if faking a pout, although her smile never changed. “Aw. Look at the poor little puppy. Still trying to stay true to its master.” She leaned down a bit, looking Crowley in the eyes. “Crowley. Dear heart. You were just their _plaything._ A stand in for what they really wanted. Even before the Fall. Do you _honestly_ think it was a mere chance that they picked the most stupid and naive archangel to hang around with? Anyone else would have seen right through their little scheme.”

Crowley snarled instinctively, fingers curling like claws, eyes nearly glowing with rage. "You have no _idea_ what you're talking about," Her words were snarled through clenched teeth. Of course that wasn't true. Certainly, she had not been the most focused, or powerful Archangel, but that wasn't why Sam had been her friend. Sam had never _schemed._ At last, not without _her_ input. If anything, she was usually the one with the scheme, dragging poor Sam along.

Yet, yet there were certain moments. _"Raph! Why did you not just swing your Archangel weight around and get us out of trouble?"_ But they hadn't meant it like that. They just didn't understand why she let her siblings bully her around, that was all. 

_"You don't have to take that from them, Raph. You don't have to let them talk to us like that."_

A hot burning lump formed in her stomach as she glared up at the demon. An inky cold feeling creeping up her spine.

“Oh, I don’t?” Deumos raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think they kept you around, Raph? Why do you _honestly_ think they’d make you play as their little servant? Do you serve any practical purpose?”

_"Don't._ Call. Me. That." Crowley's voice dropped an octave, a hint of demonic energy wafting off of her as she spoke the short staccato words. Several feet away, the sword shivered, metal scraping against the floor. Just a little.

“I’m just trying to get you to see that you’re nothing but a replacement for _Gabriel.”_

Snarling, something in Crowley snapped. The sword began sliding across the floor towards her, but she was no longer _really_ thinking about it. No, the demon was not thinking clearly at all as she launched herself at Deumos.

Crowley didn't make it very far before Verin stepped in front of Deumos, grabbing Crowley by the front of her shirt and slamming her back against the wall hard enough that the whole thing shook, a crack forming as he held her there. Deumos shook her head, almost seeming disappointed. “I really thought you’d be able to behave yourself, Crowley. How sad.” The Twins reformed out of the shadows, having caused enough of a distraction that Lord Beelzebub would not be coming down to these parts of hell for a long time yet. They looked to the brown haired demon for direction, and she nodded at Verin, who threw Crowley to the floor in front of her. She took a step back and motioned vaguely to Crowley, stepping back so she wouldn’t risk getting any blood on her. She didn’t do her own dirty work, after all.

She much preferred to watch.


End file.
